Dreaming of Electric Sheep
by theEOWs
Summary: Are video games hazardous to one's health? The team is about to find out. Another whirlwind adventure written by Drufan and Stealth Dragon
1. Down the Rabbit Hole

A/N: Welcome, readers, to another exciting and whumptacular fic concocted by those devious plot bunnies and muses of Drufan and Stealth Dragon. I would ask that you keep your hands and feet inside the ride at all times as those bunnies and muses do get quite enthusiastic when it comes to whumping our beloved team.

Ch. 1

_Down the Rabbit Hole_

Sheppard stuffed the already half-eaten, two-day old chocolate power bar into his face. It was stale, not his favorite, and a little bit like torture, but if it kept mommy McKay quiet, then all were happy. Aquamarine alternated with fluorescent green overhead. Add to that smooth, iridescent walls and one would feel lost in the maze at Laser Quest. Except there were no Laser Quests in the Pegasus Galaxy. More'sthe pity.

There were, according to Lorne, very kick-butt VR arcades.

John crumpled the shiny wrapper and stuck it in his pocket since he was loathe to litter. He'd been even more loathed to eat the damn thing, but preferred it over the lectures that made him feel like a damn anorexic. He skipped meals because he was busy, busy busy, Just like Rodney was always busy and never sleeping. But did the insomniac get lectured? Probably, but Sheppard was never fortunate enough to be around when it happened. McKay and his hypochondria gave him front row seats to Sheppard's berating.

It also gave McKay an excuse to be a bigger jerk under the guise of being a good friend.

"_I think even GI Joe ate from time to time."_

Macho-ism, Rodney had immediately chalked it all up to macho-ism. And the man was supposed to be a genius.

They turned a sharp right into another metallic hall, aquamarine alternating with fluorescent green.

Sheppard wasn't anorexic. He ate, just not a lot. Crap happened, kept him busy, kept him occupied, flooding his brain until mundane necessities were a burden he didn't have time for. At least he kept hydrated. And going from three meals a day to two – okay, sometimes one and a half to a quarter if all he settled on was a muffin and milk – wasn't going to kill him. Put extra holes in his belt, yes, but not kill him. Some people went days without eating squat. John had yet to ever reach that point, he wasn't stupid.

He'd even had a nice big breakfast of two muffins and a whole glass of milk before leaving. Really big muffins. Blueberry, with butter. That had to count for something.

"We there yet?" Rodney called, tone flat and bored, from behind John.

Lorne, leading the way behind the guy actually doing the leading, glanced over his shoulder, grinning like a kid heading to the Christmas tree. "Not far. Seriously, you guys are going to love this."

John smiled at the display of youthful exuberance. "You had us at 'kick-butt VR simulator', Major, I'm already loving it." The fact that Lorne and his team hadn't been frapped by this arcade was what he really loved. The other shoe usually didn't like to wait around to be dropped.

"Can you imagine what we could use tech like this for, sir?" Lorne continued. "Training simulations, battle simulations, or, hell, something to do on the weekend."

"Let's check the product over before we buy, eh Major?"

Lorne's face was almost split in two by his over-sized smile. "Good thing I don't have a wallet on me. I would've been whipping it out by now."

Ah young, naïve Lorne. The man needed to make a few more acquaintances with killer computers. Had the Matrix taught them nothing?

Their host – medium height, build, sharp-featured with a severely receding hairline (Sheppard couldn't help thinking sleazy car salesman in a shiny green robe) – took them into a room at the end of the hall that was more fitting to John's expectations. It was cathedral massive, wall to wall blinking consoles and a ceiling buried under tangles of wires and cables. The VR chairs were twenty in all lined up in the center of this chamber with more cables and wires snaking from the back and rising up like man-made vines to join the mess overhead.

The Matrix was a bad, bad influence. Plus every movie made about computers. John half expected everything to perk up and drone "Good morning, Dave" to which John would reply by turning tail and running, to hell with how it would look. At the extreme moment, Sheppard felt a tingle in his fingers and toes, as though his body were readying the adrenaline, just in case.

Their host, Norl Pondo John vaguely recalled, strutted up to the nearest chair and slapped his palm on the armrest. "Good sirs, I give you the Interface. Nothing fancy about it. You just sit down, lay back, and let our tech-hands do the rest." He swept an arm in the general direction of the two techs dressed in sterile white uni-suits, muttering as they bustled and fretted at the consoles.

"And it's safe," Sheppard pressed for the third time that day.

Pondo's smile flashed white-teeth stained in aquamarine light. "Absolutely. People come from all across the galaxy just for ten minutes in one of our interfaces. Being underground and shielded, they do not have to worry about ambushes by the wraith. It is an escape, Colonel, the best that can be bought. People need an escape now and then, even if it is temporary. And of course we never let people stay too long. Hour, hour and a half tops."

It was this Interface being used as a pastime by Pegasus natives, and Lorne and his team testing them out and still being alive to talk about it, that kept trying to get John to bring his guard down.

_Danger, Danger John Sheppard._

And a robot would know best. But they'd already prepared. Lorne and his men would stay out of the chairs while John and his team went in for a little VR fun of their own. Pondo had cleared the day for play and even agreed to let Rodney hook up his PC to one of the suckers for some readings. If things turned ugly, Zelenka was prepped and only a DHD dial away.

Like hell Sheppard was going to say they had nothing to lose. They had plenty to lose, they were just prepared to lose it this time around. He winced internally at the thought. It still sounded wrong no matter how it was put.

"So how do we do this?" John asked.

"First off," Pondo began, "the less layers you wear the better. Just sit down, close your eyes, and let us do the rest."

Sheppard looked at McKay. Rodney didn't return the look as he was already gathering energy readings. He'd been more interested in what was powering the thing, for which Pondo didn't have an answer. It was a good bet the answer was a ZPM. Not that there was much they could do about getting the thing if that was the case. The power source couldn't be reached, according to Pondo, which was why he didn't know the source. Sheppard also had the feeling the Pegasus natives wouldn't be too happy to learn their favorite toy was damaged by the Lanteans. The highest priority on Elizabeth's 'not to do' list was _not_ to make more enemies. And that always came down to scratching one potential ZPM.

Pondo slapped his hands together. "So, care to begin?"

Sheppard exchanged looks with Ronon and Teyla. He was rewarded with their returned gazes of trepidation. They weren't ready. Then again, were they ever?

Rodney was already hooking up his PC to the nearest chair. When he finished, he smiled, finally showing the enthusiasm John had been expecting. "I'm ready." Of course he was. Taking readings was the highlight of his day. Up until now he'd been rather indifferent about the whole find, most likely because he hadn't been the one to find it. More than that, Pegasus Galaxy life had squashed any and all attempts at Rodney getting his hopes up. The man wasn't so much jaded, just pessimistically cautious.

The team peeled off their vests, jackets, shoes and socks, which was as far as they were willing to go. They each took a chair: Rodney on John's right, Teyla his left, and Ronon on the other side of Teyla. The moment they settled, the chairs tilted back, forcing them prone. Teyla, Rodney, and even Ronon were startled. John just grinned until he felt something cool and rather moist slide along the back of his neck. He jerked his head away.

"Whoa, wait up. This doesn't involve us getting a lobotomy, does it?"

Pondo furrowed his brow in confusion.

"Puncture our skulls," John clarified.

Pondo raised both eyebrows and smiled his pearly whites stained blue. "Of course not. Just relax. The Interface connects through contact with your skin, nothing more. The Interface acts on both conscious and subconscious thought, automatically configuring a setting, even story-line, based on memories. You would think slapping together a game from the inner-workings of your mind would take hours, but the process takes mere seconds. If the setting, story-line, characters or anything else is not to your liking, just close your eyes and think 'reset.' Need a break? Then think temporary halt, pause, whatever works for you. 'Reconfigure setting' to change things around after you initiate the reset. Most like to go in and let the Interface do the work just to make things interesting, but it's optional. The game is divided into levels, each harder than the last. You can stop at any time. Oh, and most important, what happens in the game stays in the game. No physical side effects thus far."

That didn't sound reassuring for some reason.

John reluctantly set his head back down. The 'tongue' (bad analogy), 'finger' (no better), 'wire whatsit' (tolerable) resumed touching his neck then sliding down through his collar and along his spine stopping just above the small of his back. It pushed against his skin. He writhed in minor discomfort and found the thing adhering to him like an exo-spinal cord.

"Now what?" Sheppard asked.

Pondo leaned against the head of John's chair with hands in his robe pockets and a simpering grin on his face. "Now close your eyes."

John did. The effect was immediate, like closing his eyes in one world only to open them in another. The chill of the chamber, the soft hum, and echoing breaths of the people around him were gone as though someone had changed the channel. Now he was warm, hearing the distant pulsing rush of the ocean, and standing on a sidewalk with a street between him and the beach.

Sheppard grinned. "Okay, I'm liking this already."

"Not if it involves sunburns. I have fair skin, damn it! Do you know what weather like this does to skin like mine?"

John squinted against the glare coming off the ocean. "Give it some color?" He looked over at Rodney and popped a wide-eyed gape. "What. The. Hell?"

It was hard, so hard, not to laugh at McKay dressed in a tan shirt, white jacket, white pants, and tennis-shoes without socks. Rodney was being quite stoic about it, managing a straight face even through John's snorts of dammed-back laughter.

"That's right," Rodney said, letting his eyes roam over the beach, "let it out, Magnum, just let it all out."

Sheppard wiped his mouth of the spittle that had managed to escape his lips during the attempt. "Magnum?" He looked down at himself and the Hawaiian shirt being pressed against his body by the salty wind, the collar opened about mid-sternum. Not a bad shirt, actually. He'd worn something similar during some downtime spent in Jamaica.

"I take it back," Rodney said. "Magnum wasn't as scrawny as you."

"I prefer the term lean."

"Scrawny," Rodney pressed.

Sheppard scowled. "Shut up." He glanced around. "So where the hell are Ronon and Teyla."

The magic words. A flash of light from behind invoked the two to turn and face the well manicured lawn with a dolphin fountain in front of a coral pink hotel. The flashing had been the combination of sunlight and the rotating glass doors. Teyla and Ronon were heading toward them, Ronon in a sleeveless muscle shirt and camouflage pants, and Teyla... well, she was actually still in uniform. What was even more of a head scratcher was that her ensemble kept trying to blur and fade. Her face was twisted in hard, almost painful concentration.

"Teyla," John said, "you all right?"

Teyla glared. "No, I am not."

Which made Ronon snort. "She didn't like what she was wearing before. She somehow managed to bring back her real clothes but they won't stick." He was fighting back a smirk and losing. "You should have seen what she was wearing before."

Sheppard did, kind of. Whenever her jacket blurred out, what appeared to be a red bikini top that would have left little to the imagination attempted to fade in.

"I thought," Teyla gritted, "that we could control the settings."

"Maybe we need to restart," Rodney suggested.

Sheppard squinted thoughtfully. "Maybe we need to find Teyla something a little more suitable for the setting. Since the theme seems to be TV, let's go with..." he concentrated. Teyla's uniform and the struggling bikini top were replaced by a smart business suit: light tan jacket, white blouse, khaki pants, and black flat pumps in case there was running involved. Sheppard was pretty sure some woman had worn a similar outfit; one of the Charlie's Angles, maybe that lady on Scarecrow and Mrs. King. Who knew and who cared since it did the trick.

Teyla relaxed. "Thank you, Colonel."

Sheppard beamed. "Don't mention it. So, how do we start this thing off, anyways? I don't even know what the hell we're supposed to be doing."

Rodney clasped his hands behind his back and rocked on the balls of his heels. "Since you're probably not off about the theme being TV related, guessing from our current state of dress, this particular scenario is most likely going to involve a mystery to be solved."

"What, with no great Dane and a Beatnik to help out?" Sheppard was actually a little disappointed by that. He liked dogs, especially talking ones.

"Us being adults, I think the scenario went for PG-13 and up, Colonel. I think we all need to go inside the hotel. What's the point of having it if it isn't the starting point?"

"Wasn't much in there," Ronon said.

"Yes, but this is the magical land of make believe. I'm the genius so humor me."

They all filed through the rotating doors, out of the warmth and into artificial cool. It was a snazzy place, the kind that would eat up two of John's paychecks just for a night's stay. White marbles floors veined in amber, red carpeting leading to elevators with gold doors, and a polished wooden front desk to the left. The only thing missing were people, including the concierge. That struck John as being incredibly creepy.

Ronon was the first to move, straight up to the front desk while pointing at a small speaker and a manila envelope next to it. "Those weren't there before."

The speaker crackled. "Good morning gamers."

Rodney rolled his eyes. "Oh like hell I'm saying good morning Charlie."

"Too late," John mumbled, picking up the folder.

"In the folder," the cheery male voice continued, "you will find your mission, should you choose to accept it. This speaker will now self-destruct." The speaker sparked, popped, smoked, and died.

Sheppard pulled out a sheet of paper with instructions and a photo. The Photo was Caldwell, dressed in a beige suit, wearing sunglasses, about to step into a limo. John handed the photo off to Rodney as he read the instructions.

"Says here that Caldwell is the head of some gang. Heh, the Trust. He's planted a bomb somewhere. Not only do we have to find it but we have to find Caldwell too."

Rodney sneered. "Oh you have got to be kidding me. If the game is slapping all this together from our memories then it's a cake walk." He moved around to the other side of the desk, pulled out a Yellow Pages, and started flipping. "If I'm right, and I'm pretty sure I am, then all we need to do is find some place called the Daedalus. I'm thinking a club or a... Ah-ha!" He stabbed his finger on a page. "Right here. The Daedalus. A club on fifth and Tyler road. Okay then, now to find Atlantis."

"We're in Atlantis," Ronon said, pointing to the front of the front desk. John stepped back and Rodney slid halfway over the desk top to look down.

"The Atlantis Inn," John said, and smiled. "We're off to a great start all ready."

Rodney snapped his head up. "No, we're not." His face had gone several shades close toward white. "We're in a hotel with a bomb."

"Relax, Rodney. If this is all based on memory then all we need to do is find Caldwell and force him to tell us the codes to disarm the thing." John ripped the page with the club address from the phone book. "Ronon, you're with me. Rodney and Teyla, locate the bomb. It's probably in the lounge somewhere. And when you find it, don't touch it. The thing starts winding down to zero you run from this place. Not that I don't trust our hosts but... I don't trust our hosts. I'd prefer we end up restarting the game due to losing with our virtual skin still attached, just in case."

John stuffed the page into his pocket, then he and Ronon headed out. Rodney trailed after.

"What if it's more complicated than that?" he stammered. "I don't know if you recall but the bomb was an overloading ZPM."

"This place have a boiler room?" John said. He stepped out into the street just as a black sports car whipped around the corner.

"Sheppard!" Ronon bellowed.

John looked up in time for the car to plow into him, hip then back, his bones rattling. His final thought before blacking out was that for a virtual game that wasn't real, this sure hurt like hell.

TBC...


	2. Magnum Said There'd be Days Like This

Chapter 2

Magnum Said There'd be Days Like This

__

Pause! Exit! Ouch! John's eyes snapped open and the lurid, aquamarine light filled up his retinas.

"You okay, sir?" Lorne hovered over him on one side of the chair and Pondo did the same on the other side. "Sir?"

It took him a minute to catch up, ruminate over what had happened, and then venomously glare at Pondo. "No one said anything about excruciating pain," John said caustically. Then he looked over at his team and became alarmed. "Why aren't they awake?"

"This is a complete immersion into the game. Your body and mind will react as if you are in the real world. There are just no after effects when you quit." Pondo stopped and looked at the others. "As for them, they are still playing. Do you wish to stop or continue?"

He really did not think he had a choice. If they had not left, then they still thought he was playing. "Continue. But Lorne…"

"My eyes are wide open, sir."

John nodded and closed his eyes, only to reopen them in the back of an ambulance. Roy DeSoto, or his V.R. copy, was taking his blood pressure and Mr. T was sitting next to him. It took John a moment to realize that Mr. T. had dreadlocks instead of a Mohawk and looked remarkably like Ronon. After closer inspection, Roy actually had sharper features than he remembered and his hair was farther back than what he remembered. There was something about the eyes…

"Sheppard. What happened? You wouldn't wake up." Ronon was scrunched into the back of the ambulance and hanging on for dear life as they turned a corner.

Roy continued to talk on his radio (the really cool phone that John remembered wanting when he was in elementary school) and taking vitals.

"I woke up in the game room. I found out we can leave the game at anytime, so there's that."

"Yeah."

"Where's Rodney and Teyla?" or as he liked to think of them, Crockett and Lacey.

"Looking for the bomb. Once we're done at the hospital, we'll go to Club Daedalus."

Everything blacked out for a moment like they were returning from commercial and then John was in a hospital bed with a rumpled surface of white filling his vision. The hated penlight appeared and spotted his vision. He also noticed a name tag, but could only make out four letters: C-K-E-T-T. His eyes blinked a few times in rapid succession. After the spots receded to an annoyance, he noticed the R and the A behind the B and realized it wasn't who he thought it was.

As the man pulled back, he wore a polyester blue shirt and psychedelic, polyester striped pants. He too had dark hair, but was taller and skinnier than John's first assumption. His first name was Kelly and John let his disappointment ebb just a little. John finally noticed his arm was in a cast and the doctor was explaining the cast would need to stay on for a few weeks. He kept rattling on about how his hip was not broken, just severely bruised all the way to the bone. He also had a mild concussion and was a very lucky man.

"Next time, drive the fancy sports car, not wear it," Dr. Kelly Brackett sternly warned him. But Brackett's face was slightly distorted and was trying to morph into a more seventies kind of illusion. The hair on his head spiked for a moment before returning to a curlier style. Like Teyla's clothing, it was having trouble adjusting.

Ronon hung back and listened. He also seemed a little disoriented with the abrupt shift, but did not stay that way for long. He also stared at Brackett, but kept his indifferent air. John was certain that Ronon had been having similar thoughts and disappointments as to the doctor's identity.

So intent on Ronon, John almost missed the, "And you're free to go," from the TV doctor.

He sat up, swung his legs over the edge and grabbed his shirt, which was draped across a chair. He studied it for a moment. The bright green leaves and yellow flowers looked almost real instead of printed on a piece of fabric. As he had the thought, before his eyes, the fabric made the adjustment to look more like a Hawaiian shirt instead of a postcard picture. The game was apparently learning as it went along.

He also had this emptiness in him. There was a moment when he realized he truly had expected to see another face even after he read the name tag. More accurately, someone was missing who should have been playing Dr. Kelly Brackett.

"You okay?" Ronon asked pushing off the antiseptic, tile wall.

"Yeah, just marveling at this environment." John slipped the shirt on and accepted a helping hand from B.A. Baracus. "Well, let's get this show on the road." He gimped out the door and down the long corridor.

They exited the hospital and John whistled for a cab. A sea foam green car pulled up and they got inside it. "Club Daedalus," Ronon said. John wanted to ask how he knew what to do and then remembered. Of course there had been movie nights, but Ronon had gotten to see it first hand when he had visited Earth.

He said nothing and got off that train of thought, because they needed to find out what they could about this incredibly cool environment. Could this simulated world be a vacation spot, a training exercise, or a mortal peril that was slowly killing them with fun? Robot's arms flailed in his head again, but he knew they could exit when they wanted, so he said nothing, again.

The driver looked into the rearview mirror and nodded.

"What do we know so far?" John plainly asked.

"We need to stop Caldwell. We need to find the bomb. We need to make it back home before dinner because it's spaghetti night. They have garlic bread. I love garlic bread," Ronon said with a glassy look in his eye and a dopey smile on his face.

"Well then, let's get this episode moving because we can't miss that."

The cab driver glanced back at them in the rearview mirror. "So where you fellas from?"

"Atlanta," John said with an exaggerated Southern drawl. "Here on business. Got a meeting and then we're hitting the attractions."

"Been here all of my adult life. Haven't left in what seems like eons. You get familiar with a place and don't want to leave, but sometimes it gets a little boring. Have to spice it up-- travel a bit-- meet new people. Very important to see how others live so you appreciate what you have." The cabby's eyes crinkled with amusement. "Well, here we are! That'll be $7.50."

John reached into his back pocket and found a wallet. He pulled out a ten. "Keep the change."

The cabby accepted it and smiled. Then he held up the bill and yelled, "Thanks!"

"Can you wait here? We won't be long," John asked before he stepped away from the car.

"No problem."

Ronon and John stood on the sidewalk looking at the nondescript front door to the club. It was a white cinderblock building with mirrored swinging glass doors. The sign in the pane of glass said closed, but the door that was ajar said, 'Come on in.' It took a few seconds for their eyes to adjust to the dark interior, .

"I don't like this." Ronon grabbed his shoulder and pulled John behind him. John rolled his eyes in quiet protest.

They walked slowly over Terrazzo flooring and around tall tables and bar stools. They squinted trying to make out shapes in the dark. The florescent light blinked on blinding them and then a voice greeted them. "If it isn't the private dick and his sidekick. What are you doing walking in here like this?" Caldwell sat at a corner booth near a stage in the back of the room.

Blinking, Sheppard decided to play along. "Caldwell, good to see you too." Two large goons approached and patted Ronon and him down.

"They're not packing, sir."

"Have a seat gentlemen. Can I get you a drink?"

"Little early for me. How about you Ronon?"

"I'm good." Ronon kept an-- I've got a secret and I'm not telling-- expression on his face.

"Your boss sent you here to find out if I'm responsible for the bomb, am I right?" Caldwell leaned back in the booth and confidently smirked.

John gave an acquiescing half nod of his head. He linked his fingers and rested his elbows on the arms of the barrel shaped chairs.

"She's not the only one who has people with access. I'm being framed, by the way." The smirk never left Caldwell's face. The goons even snickered quietly and shared in the private joke.

"Right, because you are such a choir boy." Sheppard let his own smirk settle on his lips. "What do you want?"

"I want her out of business. I want Atlantis for my very own. I want it all, but I'm not the one you should be worried about. There are other factions looking to claim that prime piece of real estate for their very own."

Oh no, John could see where this scenario might possibly be going.

"K and K Ventures is looking for a foothold into this market. They have some very powerful backers but very little business savvy. So much money to be made and all they can think to do is threaten people. Amateurs. They're showing their roots." Caldwell laughed at his own joke. "You should really go talk to _them_."

Rodney had said this was going to be easy. Rodney had said this was from their minds and their experiences, so how hard could this be? Very, John thought.

"Got a pay phone?" he asked.

Caldwell's arrogant smile broadened and pointed to the side where the restrooms were.

"We aren't through," John said and motioned for Ronon to go with him. "Let's call the hotel and see how Rodney and Teyla are fairing."

When they reached the back, John picked up the cord that should have had a phone book. "Swell, now what?"

Automatic weapons fire erupted from the room sending Sheppard and Ronon ducking behind a wall. Shouting and return fire echoed from the cavernous room. The gunfire, sizzling sparks, and glass shattering drowned out anything either one of them said. John finally pointed to the door next to the Ladies' room. EMERGENCY EXIT was written over it. He figured this qualified. Staying low, they scrambled into the back alley and kept on running. As they hit the sidewalk, the cab screeched to a stop right in front of them.

"Figured you guys would need a ride when I saw those two heavies enter. Hard to conceal an AK-47 underneath Cuban dress shirts." Before they closed the door, the cab spun its wheels and tore off down the empty street.

"Where to?"

"Hotel Atlantis," John rasped out. He looked at Ronon. "You okay?"

Ronon nodded and leaned back in the seat. "Are we done playing yet?"

"I am. My hip hurts, my head's throbbing and my arm already itches. Let's get back to the hotel, get Rodney and Teyla, and quit this."

"Sounds like a plan." Ronon looked relieved at the suggestion.

They sat in silence as the cabby drove. He kept flicking his eyes back at them from time to time but, unlike most cabbies John had met, he kept his mouth shut. Finally, they stopped in front of the hotel.

"What do we owe you?" Ronon asked.

"This one is on me, fellas. As I said, it gets boring and you added a little spice. Thanks."

John snorted, closed the door, and walked with Ronon into the main lobby. "Rodney! Teyla! We're back!"

There was no answer. The adrenaline-spiked nervousness returned. It was too quiet. Ronon felt it too.

"It's too quiet. If there's something I've learned, it's that McKay is never quiet," Ronon said in a voice just above a whisper.

"Maybe they're in the basement," John conjectured. The bomb would be placed to bring the whole place down. It had to be on some sort of support that would cripple the building. "Let's take the stairs."

They entered the stairwell and jogged down them. They quietly exited and knew they had the right place.

"Son of a _bitch_!"

It was not even yelled. It was just said with such malice that John figured the bomb should have just melted and disintegrated into nothingness.

"Maybe there's a …" he heard Teyla say.

"_Maybe? _There's nothing. There're no wires, or antennas, or clocks counting down. There's no nothing, Teyla! How am I supposed to fix this?"

"Maybe the Colonel and Ronon will have some information?"

"Yeah, but this just makes no sense."

"What doesn't, Rodney?" John asked as they rounded a corner. The scene answered his question. A ZPM was glued to a column and flashed periodically. "Never mind."

"John, Ronon, good to see you. We have a slight problem."

"Slight, she is the mistress of understatement. There's no way to diffuse this "bomb" and…and…well, that's basically it in a nutshell." He actually used air quotes when he said bomb. Merideth Rodney "Sonny Crockett" McKay looked exasperated, flustered and grouchy.

"Well, I've had enough. Ronon and I want to go home. What say you two?"

"Here, here!" Rodney exclaimed.

"Not so fast," a gravelly voice purred behind him.

"Rodney, please tell me it's not who I think it is."

"If you think it's the Easter Bunny, then it's not. If you think it's Kolya, then it is."

Crap.

"There's someone else with him though."

"Kell," growled Ronon.

Teyla had the same angry look that John was sure he was wearing. "Tell me about Kell later. I don't have time for…"

"Of course you do, Sheppard," Kolya sneered. "We want Atlantis and if we can't have it, then nobody can."

"Our employer won't sell and blowing the place up won't solve anything." Then, John thought, why am I trying to negotiate? He looked at the team and started to say, "Pause game," when Kolya decided to ignite the bomb.

There was no time to scream as flesh burned from his body and he awakened in the game room. All four of them shot off their chairs as the tendrils released their hold on the skin. "Holy crap! No Lorne this is _not _a gaming paradise!" His skin burned and his brain still registered the dissipating heat.

Rodney was shaking. Teyla and Ronon were looking for someone to fight. Lorne nodded his head, "Understood, sir."

Pondo, for his part, looked confused. "I do not understand. You did not have a pleasant experience?"

"Does getting nuked sound like fun to you, Pongo?" yelled Rodney. "Geez, I'm going to have nightmares about this."

Ronon and Teyla said nothing but glared in agreement.

"We're leaving," Sheppard ordered. He shoved his feet back into his boots and grabbed his gear.

Pondo chased after them. "I'm sorry! This has never happened before."

"Well, now it has. Look, we'll be in touch about other opportunities but right now, no thanks."

The Lanteans headed down the glowing hallways leaving Pondo alone in the aquamarine light.

"Sorry, sir. My little excursion had me in Pamela Anderson's loving touch after nearly drowning…the drowning part sucked but the rescue…" Lorne had a longing smile on his face.

"Oh shut up!" Rodney yelled. "I don't need to hear about that when all I got to see was Teyla in a business suit and a bomb."

Teyla smacked him in the back of head.

"What?"

John loved his team. They were such kids sometimes. "It's okay, Major. That would have been better than Col. Caldwell and Dr. Brackett. I didn't even get to see Dixie McCall."

Lorne almost snorted his answer of, "Yes sir."

They came to the elevator leading back to the surface and Teyla ran her hand across the sensor. The doors opened to a large freight styled car. Both teams piled in and Ronon pressed the sensor for above ground. The car was missing music. They needed to hear Muskrat Love in Muzak to make this day complete. As the doors opened to the blinding light of the sun shining off a metallic surface in the lobby of the Gaming building, Sheppard could have sworn he heard high-pitched warbling. They walked through the light and into the lobby.

Shaking off muskrat Susie and muskrat Sam, he made his way to the square of the little city and dialed home. Everything went as clockwork and Elizabeth greeted them from the balcony, "Don't move."

The two teams stopped and waited for her to descend the stairway.

"Major Winchester's team is overdue. They may be in a firefight with some locals. Can you take your two teams and mount a rescue?"

John thought, sure, why not. He'd only been hit by a car, shot at by thugs, and nuked. What was one little rescue mission?

But first, he was starving.

TBC…


	3. I'm Sorry but Haven't we Met Before?

A/N: Look at the muses and bunnies clap. Hear their happy giggles. The feed-back has pleased them.

Warning: Graphic violence.

Ch. 3

I'm Sorry but Haven't we Met Before?

The post mission check was a little disconcerting. John felt phantom pains but his bones showed up on the scanner white and whole. There was a mark on his hip, small and innocuous, as though he had run into a table rather than a bumper.

"Simply your body's reaction to what your mind went through," Carson explained. "It's not uncommon for symptoms to manifest if the mind believes the body has been injured."

Sometimes John couldn't help agreeing with Rodney's assessment of anything medical being voodoo. He suffered through another spearing by a penlight, the cold metal of a stethoscope, and blood being siphoned from his arm. The prognosis was that Sheppard's heart-rate and blood-pressure were still high, but nothing a little downtime and some food couldn't fix. Although the downtime was going to have to wait.

Beckett shooed the team off with instructions to eat, drink, but not make too much merry since they had another mission ahead. They didn't even divest of their gear when they dropped themselves into the first available seat with trays in hand, digging in without much consideration for matters. Sheppard tossed Lorne a bone in the form of further details of their little VR adventure in exchange for tid-bits on Lorne's adventure.

_Bay Watch_

and _Silk Stockings_. What the freaking hell! Either the major had a closet dirty mind or Sheppard and McKay really had no imagination what so ever. But then John had always enjoyed the classics over the less-than-classics. Plus Magnum and Crockett would always remain pretty damn cool in his book. Mr. T too.

Two hot dogs, coleslaw, and potato salad later and Sheppard was still feeling a might peckish. Getting hit by a car and nuked could do that to a guy, or so John assumed. Grabbing their weapons from the armory since the chefs frowned on dirty tools of destruction in their clean mess, he and his team headed through the gate on another whirlwind adventure Sheppard wasn't looking forward to. The game had left him shaken and wired on too much adrenaline that had yet to burn out of his body. The moment his feet crunched the grass on the other side of the gate, he flinched, thinking the sound unnaturally loud.

They trudged through a wide-open field in a lush green valley surrounded by snow-capped mountains. Dragonflies with multi-colored wings flitted around wildflowers that perfumed the crisp, sweet tasting air. Combine that with the warm weather and, despite the initial adrenaline, Sheppard started feeling a little drowsy.

_Damn poppies. _

If nuns and little Swedish girls came spinning and singing from over the rise, John was out of here.

"So what was Major Winchester's mission again?" He totally forgot to ask before leaving. Or did he? Sheppard was feeling strangely detached, but not because he was drowsy. This was different. The name Winchester was obnoxiously familiar yet he couldn't get an image of the guy's face to form in his head. It also wasn't like him to not get the details of missions that had gone sour. John really should have consumed more hotdogs and coleslaw. Rodney and Carson were right, he didn't take his appetite seriously enough.

"I do not know," Teyla said, sounding perplexed.

"Probably just another meet and greet," said Rodney, "followed by the usual accidental pissing off of the natives leading to imprisonment and possible sacrificing to some fire god... or tree god. Maybe flower god..."

John whipped out his aviator sun glasses and slipped them onto his face. "Goody."

The field inclined gently, then less gently dropping into a large gully just outside a wall of red-wood type trees of literal red wood where the village sat clustered. John squinted at it. Grass huts with thatch roofing and the people half-naked with their private parts barely concealed under ragged cloth or grass skirts. Their bodies were painted, their armor wooden, their weapons spears, and yet somehow these people had over-powered Major Winchester's team. Sheppard was pretty sure he saw a movie like this, once. It had been pretty far-fetched how the dinky bows and arrows crushed so easily the might that was automatic weaponry. Life was supposed to be stranger than fiction, not a cliché of it.

"Teyla," John said. "Have you ever seen these people before?"

Teyla shook her head. "No, Colonel. I have come across primitive cultures, but not as primitive as this."

John glanced around hoping to spot what passed as the prison hut, but all the huts looked pretty-much the same.

"Well," John said. "Let's see if we can't find our missing people. We'll come in from behind, try to go in unnoticed. If all else fails, we'll use Teyla's laser to start a tiny fire and scare the hell out of them with our _magic_."

"Why do I get the feeling that won't work," Rodney said as they started moving.

"Because if the world – any world – didn't suck, we'd all fall off."

John and team gave the village wide berth on heading to the trees where they crouched and darted from trunk to bush to trunk. They kept their tread light to stifle as much needle and leaf crunching as possible. Rodney cringed from a vine sporting three-pronged leaves fluttering menacingly at him. A hut with a guard or two was their goal, and Sheppard found it on the other side of the village a few huts in: one large hut with two natives in grass skirts guarding the entrance.

The set-up couldn't have worked better. It was an area with very little traffic. The back of the hut could be easily reached by keeping low and darting like rabbits from hut to hut. John motioned his hand in the appropriate signals to convey that very plan to his team. He went first, followed by Ronon, Rodney, then Teyla on their six. Hut to hut to hut they scurried, freezing whenever a native passed by, then snapping into motion.

When Sheppard finally reached the intended hut, he peered through the gaps into shadowy gloom. His eyes adjusted enough for him to discern the lumpiness of tac-vests and standard issue boots.

Sheppard hissed. "Winchester?"

There was shuffling and John's view was eclipsed by a marine's bulky form.

"Here, sir." The voice sounded painfully familiar. John's mind flashed to hot deserts and chopper-blades pattering the air like a rapid heart beat. Screaming, shouting. John twitched his head to clear it.

"Glad to hear your voice, sir," Winchester said. "Although, we'll be a lot happier once we're out of here."

"Understood, Major. Just give us a sec." Sheppard nodded to Ronon. Dex whipped a handy blade that would have made Rambo stomp his foot in girlish jealousy, and handed it over handle out. John took the knife to begin sawing through the flimsy walling. "Why didn't you just kick your way out?"

"Tried, sir," Winchester said. "Got kind of noisy. They were on us before I could get my foot through and they stuck us in another hut."

The knife was serrated, sharp, so only minutely loud. It sliced through what looked remarkably like bamboo as though it were spaghetti until a good-sized hole was formed for Winchester and his men to crawl through. Winchester first, his broad build and sandy hair setting off spasming flashes of images in John's brain. Deserts, choppers, yelling, going down, crashing, insurgents, running, man wounded, have to save him.

Holland, this guy looked a hell of a lot like Holland. Maybe not as tall, but John could have been wrong. The similarity and images sent a sliver of sharp pain through John's skull, but he shook it off. Now wasn't the time to cave to a little late post traumatic stress. He had to wonder if that stupid VR had fried his brain in some subtle fashion after all, because he couldn't shove the memories from his mind.

"Sheppard?" Ronon said. He, Teyla, and Rodney were looking at him funny.

"I'm fine," John said. "Probably side-affects from that game. Let's blow this joint," he held up a finger when Ronon perked. "Not literally."

They did their hut-hopping again, straight back to the woods for more creeping around, putting as much space between them and the village as possible. When space was achieved, they made a mad dash for the hill, clamoring up.

John snapped his head around when he thought he heard the rapid-heart patter of chopper blades. Instead, what he saw was an entire battalion dressed in gray and armed with rifles pouring out of the woods. More gray bodies spilled from the huts like clowns from a Volkswagen, and wasn't that a creepy analogy that was freaking John out of his logical mind. Sheppard's heart tried to crawl to safety into his throat. "Who the hell are they?!"

"The real bad guys, sir," Winchester said, apologetic. "The village is just a front to underestimate them."

"That would have been nice to know ten minutes ago!" John barked, shoving Winchester ahead into a run. Their leisurely dash turned frantic as they charged back to the gate. There was moment enough for Sheppard to realize the unnatural fallacy of Winchester's slip up that would be earning the man a serious chewing out. The oddity of it was that John had yet to encounter a marine who didn't give the details of a situation right down to what the bogies were having for breakfast. Winchester's not enlightening John to the situation was just such a screw-up thing to do that it was practically unheard of.

Then came the distraction of bullets thudding into the ground, kicking up grass and dirt clumps like shrapnel. John ducked just as another bullet buzzed past his ear. "Keep going! Don't stop!"

One of Winchester's men was the first to reach the DHD to start dialing. The gate surged to life and John's heart surged with it. He skidded to a stop by the ring and waved everyone through, counting heads.

Rodney stumbled to a gasping halt next to John. "Is it just me or is this a seriously screwed up day!"

"Just proves my point about the world sucking, McKay," John said. "Now get your ass through the gate!"

Rodney was usually a good little scientist about obeying orders, but that was only when he felt like being a good little scientist. Today was not one of those days when he turned his head to peer over his shoulder at the advancing horde.

"You know, it may be just me but something about all this feels incredibly messed up... more so than usual I me -" his intended yammering was cut short when the back of his head exploded, spraying John in the face and chest with an unhealthy mix of blood, bone, and brain matter. Rodney stiffened, pitched backwards, and would have hit the ground if John's shocked brain hadn't reverted to back-up systems. He caught Rodney and dragged him backwards through the safety of the gate.

Once on the other side he shouted for the shield to be raised and for a med team to get their asses in here. He lowered Rodney to the ground, kneeling at his head, staring into wide-open and unseeing eyes. Blood pooled in a perfect crimson puddle that soaked into John's knee.

Fight, flight, and adrenaline ceased to exist. John just stared. His brain screamed at him to start shouting, crying, yelling at Rodney to get up because the man wasn't really dead. Couldn't be dead. Wasn't possible. Too many close calls for it to be possible. John felt the muscles of his throat contract but nothing came out. He was shoved aside then pulled away, dragged across the floor by Ronon as Carson and his team surrounded the cooling body.

"Sheppard!" Ronon's voice resonated so deep it was a wonder Sheppard's ear drums didn't pop.

"Rodney." John's voice was no more than a tiny croak.

He was aware of Ronon wrapping his arms around his chest and pulling him to his feet. The rest was nothing but a dream as he was supported down the corridors to the infirmary and deposited on the edge of a bed. He sat there in his own personal dilation field where time didn't exist. Someone had removed his vest and jacket. Someone else wiped the organic detritus from his face. But he could still feel it, hot and stinging. Bone, there had been bone, shards of it that had probably cut up his face.

Carson floated into John's sight with his stethoscope in his ears. Sheppard's shirt was lifted, the bell of the scope placed to his chest. Carson spoke but the words were echoing incoherence and, for some reason, John could help thinking: _Not again, not again, oh crap please not again!_ He didn't get it, because no where had Rodney died before, except in the game. But John had also died.

Too many deaths, too much dying, that's all John knew – more like felt, actually. Death everywhere, blood, organic bits and pieces everywhere, dripping like meat sauce.

"Colonel Sheppard, lad, you all right? You injured anywhere?"

John's gut tightened into a tiny little ball. "No, Carson I am _not_. _All_. _Right_." Then the inevitable. John doubled over and heaved and heaved, hot dogs and coleslaw chunks splattering onto the floor, then nothing but air. The world merry-go-rounded and everything faded to black with Carson's voice reverberating into the distance.

_TBC..._


	4. The Game of Life is Hard to Play

__

A/N: Oh the bunnies and muses are skipping through the daisies. The feedback is lovely and the guessing is great!

Chapter 4

The Game of Life is Hard to Play

"Maj. Sheppard?"

He wanted to lie in the bed and not talk to anybody.

"Maj. Sheppard?"

He wanted all of them to go away so he could lick his wounds and-- Wait, did someone just call him, major?

"Col. Sheppard, your crew is here to see you."

Not all of his crew…He didn't have a crew anymore, did he?

"Sheppard. It's been days. Just 'cause you took a round to the shoulder doesn't mean you get to lie around all day."

Ronon could go take a flying leap. But, that wasn't Ronon's voice. It was a voice from farther back.

"Captain, he's still recovering from anesthesia. He may not understand."

Leave it to Car…a doctor to understand his not wanting to deal. One does not immediately get over the back of your friend's head blooming like a red flower using time lapse photography. It just doesn't happen. He had been in similar situations. He had seen similar events. He had had friends die in front of him. You can not go into combat and not have it happen. But, it was _Rodney_.

Too many, too much, too close.

"When either one of them wakes up, call us."

They would all accompany the casket to Earth.

He decided to go back to sleep until all of the pain went away. Of course, with such pain, it would not happen for a very long time. It was the soul-scarring, deep kind.

When he awoke, he looked in the next bed hoping that he was wrong-- hoping that his mind was playing tricks on him-- hoping that his friend's brains had not washed down a drain after being wiped off of his face and rinsed out of his hair. Instead of Rodney, he saw Holland.

"Holland? But you're dead."

"No sir, Maj. Winchester…Maj. Charles Winchester the Third…"

Anger welled up within Sheppard. Hot poker-in-the-eye kind of anger consumed him. He wanted Pondo dead. He wanted this game nuked. He wanted to fire a drone and level the damn building, himself.

"Stop. This. Damn. Game. **_NOW_**!"

Nothing happened.

"Cease game."

"Exit."

"**_Stop_**!"

"Sir? You okay?" Maj. Charles Winchester the Third, who looked like Capt. Holland's cloned sibling, asked.

Sheppard started to look around and realized that he was not in the pristine and cathedral-like infirmary of Atlantis, but in the olive canvas of a field hospital. "Where's Car--? Where's Dr. Cole or Dr. Biro or the other one? Get Dr. Weir!"

A nurse hurried over. "Major, you need to calm down. You'll open up your sutures if you continue to act out."

"Sutures? What sutures?" The events he remembered were not the ones they were talking about.

"From rescuing me from the Taliban, sir," answered Holland-Chester the False.

"No, this is all wrong. We rescued you from some other people. Rodney was…I'm not…I'm in…Where's Ronon and Teyla? What have you done with Rodney!" he roared at everyone in the ward.

"Colonel, lie back down now…Dr. Atar!" The nurse called out as he tried to sit up. Everything started to curl like blue-green smoke around him. He knew it. It had to be that damn, stupid, soon to be ex- game.

OUT! He wanted out! They could not even keep his rank straight. They had a player from MASH in the bed next to him impersonating Holland.

A doctor who resembled the taxi driver walked calmly over with a pre-filled syringe. "Let's see if we can calm you down. Can't have you too agitated and undo all of my work." Two humongous, should-have-been-linebackers-in-the-NFL orderlies came over and held him down. The aqua-colored contents were pushed into his IV port and he drooped with the immediate feeling of lethargy.

"When you wake, maybe the story will be better," the cabby whispered to him. "S'been movin' real nice so far."

"No story to tell," drowsed John before succumbing.

The next time he awoke, he was in a padded cell.

-----------------

Ronon had been running and shooting until he heard the sickening thud of a body going down. He stopped, looked over his shoulder and saw Sheppard hauling a dead McKay through the Ring. He covered their evacuation and then stepped through the vortex into the Gate Room. Chaos, shouting, and a paralyzed Sheppard met his arrival. Once Sheppard was deposited in the infirmary and under the care of doctors, he went to clean up. He stepped into the transporter--

--only to end up on Sateda.

Ronon froze as he stood on the old parade grounds of his former home. The buildings were still ruined. The ground was still littered with garbage. Bones still lay where they dropped. The sky still carried a haze from long departed fires. It felt, smelled and looked of death.

He realized that somewhere along the way he had lost all of his team. He stood alone and the DHD was no where to be seen. He tried the entire list of exit commands that the soon to be corpse of Pondo had suggested, and nothing happened. He stood still on his dilapidated homeworld surrounded by memories and ghosts and decided he would not let Pondo suffer. It would be a quick shot between the eyes.

Movement caught his attention and he ran behind the nearest hunk of metal that could have been a wall or a weapon in another life. Now, it was his sanctuary. He had already played this game. The Wraith could come and get him. Maybe if he died, then he would exit. It had happened when the bomb went off…no, it hadn't. They were still in it, weren't they? It was getting confusing. He was starting to forget what part he was playing.

Ronon peeked over the top as a group moved from building to building searching for him. The first time, no one was on the planet except for the Wraith and him. That is until his team showed up. His team plus Beckett…

He centered his calm. He focused on the task at hand. He gripped his blaster and took aim. He hesitated and held his fire. Faces among the approaching combatants appeared familiar. Then, the wisp of hair, the faint scent, and a vivid memory gripped him with a vengeance.

"Intruder! We already have your accomplice! Surrender!"

The voice sounded so hard and without compassion. It should never have sounded that way. It had never sounded that way before.

They shoved Teyla forward and a petite blond joined her as well, challenging him. "She bears a mark of the Wraith! Do we destroy her now as they did us or do we talk?"

Figment or not, he could not let anything happen to either woman. Whether or not the scenario was real, the feelings were. Ronon stood up from the rusted-out hunk of metal and held up his hands.

The blond froze where she stood on the parade grounds. She grabbed the arm of the man holding a weapon on Teyla and pushed it down. "If she is with him, then we have nothing to fear." She looked ready to run at him or faint where she stood.

He was definitely ready to run and crush her within his grasp.

"Oh thank the Ancestors; I thought you were lost from us!" Melena exclaimed as she followed her first instinct and ran across the open common area.

This was one of Ronon's greatest nightmares. To see her again and know it was not real. To be this close and know she was nothing more than a weighty dream.

She threw herself at him and fiercely hugged him. She pulled his head down and gave him a kiss that spoke of lovers being apart for much too long. She might have been a fake, but she felt and smelled so real. With her here, he did not want to leave this game, ever. Even if she was an immitation, she was here, and it was almost enough.

Her hair tickled his nose. Her breath was on his chest. Her arms encircled him and made him feel safe and loved. Their hearts beat against each other's and it was music.

Ancestors forgive him, he wanted to stay. He wanted to forget the Wraith. He wanted to forget his team. He wanted to forget any obligation he had outside of this one right here. He wanted to stay and start a life and family in this mock existence.

"Ronon, we are still in the game."

"I know, Teyla; I know."

For the moment, it did not matter.

-----------------

He was eating sand. He was dead and eating sand. Heaven this was not, because it was too hot and too sandy. He grabbed his intact skull and started laughing. He would eat sand until it tasted good if that meant he did not have a crater in his brain pan.

"I'm alive!" Rodney rolled onto his back and sat up. "I'm alive!" He threw sand into the air and it blew back into his face. "Ow! Ow! Damn it!" He rubbed and then rubbed a little harder just in case it helped in anyway.

Partially blinded by the sand, he squinted and looked around-- at absolutely nothing. Nothing but sand and rocks and dunes and mountains in the distance. But, there was a sound: a mechanical rumbling from somewhere behind him. From the tall sand dune he was sitting on, a sound seemed to be coming from the other side and through the very granules underneath him. Overhead, the tip of a very large gun peeked on top of the crest, followed by a large, metal body and giant, rolling treads.

Rodney realized a tank was about to land on top of his head. He scrambled down the side of the dune and zig-zagged away from the behemoth, yelling at the top of his lungs the entire time, "Yeah Rodney, this will be fun! Have a seat in the chair, Rodney! It's only a game, Rodney!"

He looked over his shoulder to see if he had successfully evaded the humongous machine. It had stopped so he stopped and bent over to grip his knees. This part of the VR scenario felt too much like actual physical work.

"Stay where you are!"

Great. Now he was about to be captured by…a marine barely out of diapers. He looked into the baby face of a sandbox warrior who was holding a rifle on him.

"I surrender! Take me to your leader! I come in peace! Just get me out of here!"

The young man held his weapon on him as another equally baby-faced kid frisked him. "Hey Sarge! Looks like we got a wayward civvy contractor lost in the Sandbox!"

"Yes, that's what I am. I'm with a group helping to improve the infrastructure." And why not? He could have been. "But before we go anywhere, let me try something first."

Rodney took a big breath and said, "I want out." When nothing happened, he tried again. "Finish…Leave…Exit…Quit game…Close window?" He should have known it was not going to be that easy.

Nothing is ever that easy.

Conceding failure, he ordered, "Upwards and onwards, young cadet." He kept his hands where the first kid could see them and followed him over the dune and a few miles down a dusty, rock littered road until they came to a compound infested with green tents.

He knew exactly what kind of thrilling episode he was in. He knew exactly whose memory had conjured up this piece of fiction. His only question was: where were Ronon and Teyla?

The wee-tyke, as Carson would have so eloquently put it, directed him to a hospital and summoned a nurse over. "We found this civilian in the middle of the ass-end of nowhere. He needs a look over."

She smiled and directed him to bed. She asked him all the pertinent questions, took all of the pertinent vitals, and then told him the doctor would be over in a minute. There was not a whole lot of privacy in the tent. A few curtains were up but only in a few areas. Half the beds were occupied from any number of maladies-- hopefully, none that were contagious. He also had a guard.

Behind one of those curtained off areas, he saw a nurse come out conferring with a doctor about a combative patient. Rodney felt reasonably sure he had just found Sheppard. And how on Earth did he end up in here when he, Rodney, had ended up in the middle of the desert after getting shot through the head?

Maybe it was a sort of reset. If you died then you started from square one healthy and ready to begin again. Or it could just be that the game liked to just mess with you. He knew he was the one that was going to have to figure a way out, because, and it was very obvious, the game was malfunctioning in some way.

As the doctor walked across the area, he looked directly at Rodney and smiled. "Ah, I see you've arrived too. Excellent! Have a seat and let's get you a good goin' over!" he exclaimed with a little too much exuberance.

Rodney blinked in response and stared.

"I'm Dr. Atar. So, where are you fellas from?"

Rodney felt confused. The last time he looked in the mirror he was only one person. "Excuse me?"

"You fellas, Major Colonel Sheppard and yourself."

"What kind of brain damaged program are you?" Rodney glared with increasing wonderment and befuddlement. "It's Col. Sheppard or if you are in a certain timeline memory-- and that is what I'm guessing-- it's Maj. Sheppard. Are you dense or just stupid?"

The doctor shrugged. "Neither, just confused, Doctor. But I can see a story when it lands in front of me."

Mrs. McKay's little boy was suspicious of other people's motives by nature and by behavior reinforcement. When you are the freaky, weird kid in with the teenagers, then suspicion is second nature. This game was sending him all the warning signs. He knew Sheppard liked the "Danger, danger" motif and it was wailing right now.

This character was odd. He behaved differently than other characters met in each variation. He was giving off the creepy grandfather vibe, but he looked no older than Sheppard or himself. A "Hey young man, want to come up and see my baseball card collection and have some milk and cookies? Oh by the way, you like naked men?" sort of thing. Rodney decided to think real hard this time.

**__**

OUT.

Norman Bates remained in front of him.

He hoped somebody back home knew they were in trouble.

"Doubles are more fun," Dr Atar said cryptically, yet with enthusiasm.

Rodney felt the stab of the needle, saw the swirling, pretty blue end of the color spectrum, and woke up facing John Sheppard, who was drooling on a padded floor.

-----------------

Teyla had landed on her feet on top of the hospital on Sateda. She was captured only 45 seconds later. She was shaking because she had seen John come through the portal wearing more blood than was healthy. Also, she had noticed Rodney was the one losing it. Ronon showed up, but the chaos tended to make things hazy as to what happened next. She might have gone to the infirmary, but she not might have. She had obviously ended up here.

The Satedans tied her hands and interrogated her. They asked all the right questions of who, where, what and why. She asked if they knew Ronon. All of them silenced themselves and looked at two women standing in the shadows. She had her answer.

She asked if they had seen two others dressed similarly to her. They answered, "No." It might or might not have been the truthful answer. Rodney was dead, or had been, or might not be. This was so confusing. She was pretty sure that the illusion had continued. They had never left the simulated world.

Others ran into the dank room where they were holding her and reported someone had come through the Ancestor's Ring. They took her with them to intercept whoever had arrived.

Whoever it was, they would leave this dungeon together. As she saw Ronon dive for cover, her right arm started to itch. She looked down on her forearm and stared at the blue scaly patch raised upon it. It was the cruelest of ironies. She was becoming that which Ronon and she hated.

As Ronon reacquainted himself with his lover, Teyla knew she needed to remind him of their initial objective. They needed to get out of the program. She knew, if she did not leave this nightmare soon, he would have to kill her. That was not a prospect she wanted him to deal with at all--

--Real or not.

__

TBC…


	5. We're all Mad Here

A/N: Silly muses and bunnies with their crazy cliffhangers. They are most pleased by the responses.

_Ch. 5_

We're all Mad Here

Rodney looked down at himself, then at John, back at himself, and back at John again. "Ooookaaaaay?" He was still dressed mission ready, but Sheppard was sporting a rather bland pair of scrub-like white pajamas that appeared to be a size or two too big on his angular frame. Maybe it was the trick of the light and so much blinding white – at least Rodney honestly hoped it was – because Sheppard was looking grotesquely pale and a few pounds lighter. Which was a bad thing. A very bad thing. The pallor, obviously, because that kind of coloring was not a healthy shade. And Sheppard had already been looking a little extra wiry before this whole mess began.

No, it was the scrubs. The scrubs provided no false padding, unlike a jacket and tac-vest. The scrubs were accentuating what was already there. Sheppard was fine despite being drugged into next month. Perfectly fine.

Rodney realized he was being hysterical, and yet the realization did nothing to change the fact. It took a moment of deep, cleansing breaths before he was finally able to move. He knelt next to Sheppard and pressed his fingers into the man's neck.

The pulse was slow, sluggish. But, then again, tall people were said to have slower heart-beats.

_Good crap, drowning in denial much? _

McKay grimaced in disgust at the small pool of spittle forming beneath John's mouth. He shook Sheppard's shoulder.

"Colonel. Hey, Sheppard. Wakey, wakey. I need you front and center to help me think our way out of this VE. Crap, if this is what the future holds for X-box I'm never playing another video game as long as I live. Sheppard!"

Sheppard moaned and lifted his even more disheveled head. " Rooo-dney?"

"Yes, Rodney, the one and only." He patted the side of John's face with the right amount of force not to cause hurt. "Come on, you need to snap out of it."

"Tired," Sheppard breathed, dropping his head back onto the spongy floor.

Rodney clenched his jaw, focused on frustration rather than terror, grabbed John's shoulders that felt uncomfortably sharp, and shook until the man's teeth clacked. "Sheppard! Wake now, nap later. Come on! I need you up so we can get the hell out of here!"

Sheppard shoved at him with as much strength as a four year old. But it was his pallor going a little green that finally forced Rodney to stop.

"Sheppard, I swear, if you puke on me, I will put blue dye in your shampoo and call you a smurf for the rest of your damn days!"

Sheppard gave him a withering look muted by his overwhelming pathetic appearance. "Can you say... _decaf?_"

Rodney reared his head back. "You wouldn't?"

"Jus' try...me."

Rodney opened his mouth to retort and then remembered that now wasn't a good time. "We'll debate revenge tactics later. So, tell me which movie you recently saw that involved Belleview Sanitarium? Or is this a personal experience?" He prided himself on knowing enough about the military that if one of their own ended up in the loony-bin, then they usually didn't make it past Major. Although, maybe, that was just the Air Force. There were a few marines that had McKay wondering...

"Never... sanitarium. Psychiatrists, psychologists... no nut-house." John smiled drunkenly. "Close, though."

"Oh, yes, that's encouraging. You know, the more I come to know about you, the less I want to know. What were you _almost_ in for?"

Sheppard replied with a tired, woeful, while also 'none-of-your-damn-business-McKay' glare. Sheppard being able to pull off all three expressions at once under a drugged haze shouldn't have been natural.

Rodney gulped. "Right, never mind."

The padded door swung open on hinges that needed a good oiling. Norman Rockwell – Dr. Atar - was back, wearing a lab coat and brandishing a clip board. He padded softly over to Sheppard, trailing two burly orderlies like Rottweilers in human form. They were wearing rather unflattering looks of anticipation as though bruising drugged, bony, helpless Lt. Colonels was the highlight of their day. Rodney's hand whipped out the nine-mil still secured to his thigh and aimed it.

"Okay." He cleared his throat to make the words less of a squeak. "Okay, just back off, all of you. You lay one finger on him and I'm blowing it off."

"Yull... Sh't me... M'kay," John slurred.

Dr. Rockwell – _Atar_ - placed his hand on John's arm. "Are you still seeing this McKay fellow, John? Still won't accept his death, I see."

Rodney's jaw dropped and the gun with it from his suddenly numb hands. "Oh no."

----------------------------

Teyla was going to be sick. Ronon was holding a dead woman in his arms, and he was _happy_. Not that she did not want Ronon to be happy. She just preferred it when what made him happy was _real_. Perhaps, if he were killing a wraith, excelling in a competition of strength, or basking on a warm beach similar to the one in the first scenario, then maybe it would have been acceptable.

But he was hugging a fake, _dead woman_.

"Ronon?" Teyla's voice cracked. As Sheppard might say, this was freaking her out. She had never met Melena, but she knew of her from the few stories Ronon felt like telling of her. Simple descriptions told with such affection it brought the usually emotionless man to tears while also smiling. Close to tears. If he did cry, it was only in private. But it was enough to let Teyla know how much this quiet, stoic man had loved this woman.

That love was now terrifying her. Ronon was wearing a look of relief over something that wasn't even real.

Ronon looked up, and Melena's head turned. She regarded Teyla with narrowed eyes, but not with the contempt of a jealous lover. This was something more suspicious, disgusted, even afraid.

"Ronon, we must kill her."

Teyla stiffened, heart pounding. "But what have I done?"

"She is a wraith, Ronon," Melena said. She pushed away from her love to circle Teyla and those that restrained her. "Kill her now before she changes back."

Teyla looked at Ronon. Ronon looked at her, shocked.

"Ronon, I am not..." Pain cramped her midsection, doubling her over in time to see the corpse-white bleeding over the dark skin of her hand. Morbid fascination had her turning her palm up. A feeding mouth split her palm. She looked up at Ronon in horror. "Ronon, this is not real. We are in the game. This is _not real_!"

Ronon kept staring, just as horrified and completely confused, which she had never seen on the runner before.

Horror morphed into betrayed rage. Teyla was wrong, she'd been scared before, she was terrified now.

As Dr. McKay might say, "Oh crap."

---------------------------------

It had all been Holland's fault. Not Winchester the third whatever. Holland. Holland hadn't made it back except in a body-bag. Sheppard hadn't just been shot, he'd been shot, dehydrated, and starving because the guys doing the shooting had cornered him in a nearby cave. And Sheppard had felt it his duty to drag a dead body along with him. Hunger plus blood-loss plus a rotting corpse plus more hunger and dehydration equaled unequivocal delirium. He'd been so freakin' nuts, the elephants weren't pink, they were red with machine guns, and the yellow Submarine had had nukes that wouldn't stop going off.

It wasn't until the medics had gotten the bullet out and enough liquids and nutrients in him that it was realized the need to stuff him in the nut house was not necessary. Psychiatrists and psychologists, yes. Loony-bin, no. But it had been close, real close. A male nurse had commented, "He sure kicks ass for a skinny guy." Enough said.

Really, really, really close. So he hadn't been as surprised as he should have been on waking up in a padded room. John swore it had all been foretold in a fortune cookie once.

"Colonel Sheppard," the painfully familiar doctor said. "How are you feeling today?"

John lifted his head on his unsteady neck and suffered from having a thin string of drool dribble out of the corner of his mouth. "Like I've been drugged. How the hell... do you think I... feel?" He hated it when he couldn't think straight. "Rodney's alive... right there." He lifted a finger that was as unsteady as his neck, pointing at McKay standing in the corner with his jaw hanging open as though someone had just told him Zelenka won the Nobel Prize.

The doctor glanced over his shoulder and then glanced back wearing one of those patronizingly calm smiles. It was both placating and condemning Sheppard as having too many screws loose. "John, we've been over this. What you're seeing is not real. Dr. McKay was killed, shot through the head. It caused you to have a nervous breakdown. Now, I know your memory isn't as reliable as it should be – that's the fault of the medication, I'm afraid – but you're usually more quick on the draw about remembering what happened."

John did remember, quick as a slap: McKay talking, big whole blooming in the back of his head, blood, brain matter, bits of bone. John could still smell it, metallic and cold. He could feel it running down his face, dropping organic bits to plop on the floor.

"Sheppard!"

John flinched. Rodney was kneeling next to Doc. Familiar and looking panicked.

"Not real, Sheppard. It's not real. We're in a game, remember?"

John looked between the two supposed figments of his imagination. "Game?" Major Charles Winchester the third, not Holland. The supposed to be dead man alive on the gurney had been Holland but called himself Winchester. Sheppard shook his head. "It's a game."

Doc. Familiar ran his hand soothingly over John's head. "It's not a game, John. I know it feels unreal, but that's the medication."

John jerked his head away. "End game."

"John, please, don't make this harder on yourself."

"Abort."

"This will never end if you don't accept the truth."

"Exit."

"John, please."

"Don't listen, Sheppard!"

Sheppard sucked in a sharp breath. "Control-alt-delete."

"John?"

"Sheppard!"

John slapped his hand over his ears. "Will you two just _shut up_! End game, end game, _end game_...!"

Doc Familiar sighed. "You brought this on yourself, John."

------------------------

The wraith that had once been Teyla used her new found strength to brake free. She took off running from the ruined building. Old instincts kicked in and Ronon gave chase, Melena close at his side, as it should be. All felt right in the world, except for an incessant voice that kept questioning the logic in all this.

_This isn't supposed to be happening. Melena didn't escape, she died._

_You don't know that. _

_Teyla isn't a wraith._

_Could have been from the start, first test subject of Beckett's._

_He hadn't created the retrovirus then. If he had perfected it, Sheppard wouldn't have turned into a bug._

The voice was making him angry. It's logic made him think of McKay, it's calm made him think of Sheppard. Both men had a tendency to be right about a lot of things. Not everything, but a lot.

Ronon weaved around rubble and leaped over skeletal chunks of dead buildings. Everything was as he remembered when he'd been dragged back to this place to fight the wraith. Sheppard had been there, and Teyla. She'd been human. She'd saved him. A wraith would not have done that.

Teyla moved ahead at inhuman speed, took a corner and vanished when Ronon took it after. But he could still smell her stench, like blood, death, but underlined by a perfume that was Teyla from the candles she always burned when meditating.

"I know you're here, wraith!" Ronon bellowed.

She rose from behind a stack of crates and emerged with more grace than she had even as a human. She was tense, scared, but resigned. "Ronon, please. This is not real. We are still in the game. You know me. You know this is not possible. You know this Melena is not real. You _know,_ Ronon. It is painful for you, I understand, but you cannot give into this dream. Please, Ronon, do not do this."

Ronon had had plenty of wounds throughout his life, but it was always the non-physical ones that hurt the most. He looked over at Melena still standing beside him. Her look was hard, cold. She was a strong woman, but Ronon had never seen such a look on her face.

Her features blurred, shifted, the hard look becoming soft, urgent, a look Ronon knew, and yet he still wanted to believe it.

"Ronon!" Teyla's voice wavered. He looked at her, at her fear. He could smell it on her. Wraith never stank of fear.

Teyla stepped forward. "Ronon, I...!" She jerked to a halt when a red dot appeared in her forehead. Blood drew a perfect red line between her eyes to her nose. Then she crumpled into a heap on the ground. Ronon looked numbly over at Melena holding her arm out straight with a nine-mil still smoking in her hand.

A nine-mil.

Ronon raised his weapon. "End game." He blasted a gaping hole in Melena's chest and vowed that Pondo would be next.

---------------------------

Rodney tried to pull the two human Incredible Hulks off the more breakable body of his friend. His hands passed right through, touching Sheppard on the other side. The man wasn't exactly up to enduring physical contact at the moment. Two more pairs of hands was too many and he thrashed, kicked, bucked, and snarled more viciously. One slab of muscle wrapped his thick arm around John's chest. Rodney heard the snap above the yelling, and yelling turned into screaming.

Rodney felt ready to puke. "Crap, Sheppard, it's not real. That rib isn't really broken. Sheppard!"

John struggled harder. The second bruiser switched from grappling with John's legs to wrapping his arm around Sheppard's throat and squeezing. The lack of oxygen was further incentive for John to kick things up a notch. He added twisting and squirming to the kicking and back arching, even throwing his head back to flatten any unsuspecting nose behind him. The bruiser squeezed harder.

There was a snap. Sheppard sagged like a puppet with cut strings. His head hung at an odd angle. The room went quiet.

Dr. Atar tsked. "Oh dear. Now look what we've done." He turned to face Rodney for the first time and smiled that annoying, placating, crap-eating grin of his. "Let's try something different, shall we?"

Rodney blacked out for no reason that he could think of.

_TBC..._


	6. And Don't Call me Shirley

__

A/N: Oh yes, we are not nice to the team, not nice at all.

Chapter 6

And Don't Call me Shirley

Rodney awoke to pitch black darkness. Not a single miniscule wave or particle of light entered his tomb. That had to be what this was. They had buried him alive because he had witnessed…oh no. He had witnessed those psychos kill Sheppard. They had broken his neck like a pencil. The crack was unbearable. The empty eyes were haunting. Rodney's soul was devoid of any light as well.

Now, he wanted to hyperventilate. He wanted to suck every last milliliter of air out of this enclosed space. His heart slammed against his ribcage. His body broke out into a cold sweat. He was entombed, closed in, trapped…

No, he could do this. He could become like a dandelion puff floating on the wind. He was caught on a zephyr racing across a wide open field of grass. Free. He was free to…slap his hands against the side of this tiny, finite space. No, no, he had to go back to the dandelion puff.

There was something very wrong with this whole game. There was something very off about how it moved from one thing to the next. It did not seem to follow any order. It was jumping around and experimenting with strenuous scenarios. They could not accomplish any objectives, if there were any attainable objectives at all. The players did not move to another level, so much as move through random events-- kind of like someone wondering, what would happen if…?

"Let him out, John!"

The solid plank in front of him shook and let in a sliver of light.

"That bastard let me rot in there. Couldn't tell the truth if his life depended on it. Let…me…rot."

"What was he supposed to do? Tackle the humongous guards?"

"Yes."

There was scuffling and grunting outside of the enclosed space.

"Hello? Sheppard? Let me out!"

"Not by the bleak hair on your pathetic head!" Sheppard yelled back. "You let them practically strangle me! You wouldn't tell them you knew me!"

"John! Not everyone is as brave and heroic as you!" The voice sounded familiar and a little cutting towards his fearless, skinny leader. "I'm going to call security if you don't let him out!"

What the hell was this? The "they" could not see him. He had tried…

"I tried, but this game…"

"Game? Game! You think those sheriff deputies were playing games? He's staying in there Katie."

What the…dandelion on a fast moving zephyr…wide open field with no grass or flowers to cause allergic reactions…

"We are in some sort of VE Sheppard. You know that." He pounded on the door, because this had to be some sort of locker from Hell's High School or a closet at Hades U. "OUT!" he screamed, meaning more than just the tiny, dark, cramped, and stuffy space.

"Not until you apologize! Not until you tell them that you're really on my side!"

"How old are you? Tell who? The sheriff? Let me out!"

Betrayed by his best friend, trapped in this coffin, and frightened out of his mind, McKay hammered on the door with his fists. He shoved at it with all his body weight. He grabbed the door knob and shook it. "_Please,_ Sheppard. _Please._" He was not above crying in this situation.

"Mr. Sheppard, you will let Mr. McKay out, right now. Or I will call the dean."

The door swung open and Rodney fell out into a heap on the floor of a lab/classroom. _Hades U it is, _he thought. Rodney followed the tennis shoes and jeans up to the shirt and then the face of-- not Sheppard, but the bully/asshole he had been hired to tutor back in the day. The prick had been on the basketball team and Rodney had been forcibly paid to make sure he passed the chemistry-for-idiots class. He looked at the tables and everyone wore an amused smirk as he knelt on the floor.

Rodney did not remember this ever happening. Maybe it was a fear or a conglomeration of events. He looked at the teacher and realized it was Dr. Atar. "Please go take your seat next to Miss Emmagan so I can begin class."

"Who are you?" Rodney's big brain started making big leaps. "What is it you want? Do you want to drive us insane? Do you want us to play along? What is it you want from us?"

"Mr. McKay, don't make me repeat myself."

"No. I won't move until you tell me…You're not just any program. You're something else altogether."

"You're something else," the class repeated all together.

Dr. Atar grinned. "That one always brings a smile to my face."

"Yes, how very Zucker, Zucker and Abrahams of you…but answer my questions!"

"Ms. Emmagan," Dr. Atar said with a scowl on his face.

The last thing Rodney saw in the wide open space of the classroom was Teyla's face as she pushed him back into the teeny, tiny closet, where he screamed, begged and cried until everything went back to pitch black.

-----------------

Teyla pressed her hand firmly into Rodney's chest and fed. She knew not of how she came to be here. Melena had killed her and now she drained one of her teammates of his life. His screams filled her ears and her heart. She pulled her hand quickly back in horror.

She rubbed the maw with her other hand and felt revulsion at its significance. She had taken his life without thinking. She was Wraith. It was what she did. The others' in the Hive thoughts were open to her. They were on the way to cull another world. Before her was her team. Those she counted on most. Except Rodney was now a husk in a small enclosed space.

"Are they not to your liking, my Queen?"

She looked…down at the small man. Teyla stood long and slim. She packed much power into her normal frame but with this…with this she was even more lethal. She stood before Ronon and wanted to take revenge. The question of, "Why?" slithered through her mind. He had done nothing. This was just another stage of the program. His dead lover had done the shooting. She lightly touched her forehead to make sure nothing physical remained of the memory and then held her feeding hand to her breast. She would not do this to anyone else.

"Coward. Try me."

The voice creaked like an old sitting chair. Its brittle sound grated in her sensitive ears.

"You have him singing a trying song," jeered the little, odd man. "This fella here is next. I want to see what it feels like to take everything away from someone who has nothing left. Don't you my dear? They need to feel your pain at what you could be. Your people have brought me something so new."

Eye to eye, Ronon and she stared at one another. The odd, little man, panting and waiting next to her, had waves of grotesque excitement rolling off of him. A template, a test, a nightmare, she thought. A blue-gray hand grabbed her wrist before she could attempt to attack. "Me next," rattled a partially mutated John Sheppard. "Try me and let them go."

Rodney was going no where and Ronon remained silent, defiant. John's yellow animal eyes challenged her from underneath hardened skin. "You feel it, Teyla. How we are so much alike? Don't I reflect that?" He easily stepped free of the cocoon with strings of membrane trailing him and clinging to his skin and clothes. His grasp on her wrist tightened. "Try and kill me." His voice popped like a dying fire.

The little man backed away and rubbed his hands together. "Oh my! Very good, my dear, very good!"

This game had gone on long enough. She lunged for the annoying, little, insect lover. John stopped her by blocking her way. Her temper lost, she plunged her hand at his exposed chest. His chest was not warm skin and soft hair. It was a hardened exoskeleton, brittle and cold to the touch. He laughed at her folly and plunged his hand into her chest, claws breaking the white-gray skin. She pushed harder and broke the protective cover caving in his rib cage. They held the back of each other's heads and pressed their foreheads together, locked in a horrid battle of wills. Hers was stronger. Her hand seized his heart and squeezed.

They locked eyes one last time before she devoured him.

"Oh, that is intriguing!" crooned the intruder in her never ending nightmare.

-----------------

Sheppard faced his attacker until she stopped feeding. Betrayal by a Wraith was not such a foreign concept. She was at the end of her endurance. Why should the Wraith let a morsel of Lantean goodness escape her indiscriminate palate? Sheppard lifted a skeletal hand just high enough to see each and every bone within it. The wrist bones protruded like little bouncy balls under the skin. Each delicate bone looked like a twig wrapped in a fine flesh-colored membrane. He let it flop back down on the bed of pine needles that he found himself lying upon. His neck was now the least of his problems with its lingering, phantom pain.

Rodney, what had they done with Rodney? He had been in the room, but the psychotic and sociopathic musings of the doctor led him to believe they could not see him. This game was so screwy. His Wraith had been a male not a female. Strangely, there was a familiarity to her. He pushed it aside, because all of the Queens looked alike, anyway.

"Finish it," he said.

She gave a discordant laugh. "All you had to do was ask. However, seeing you so vulnerable is quite stimulating. Always the hero. The others paint you so…I don't know…strong. You look like a weak and timid fella to me." She laughed again, but abruptly stopped as a blast burned a hole through her chest.

"I am here, Sheppard. I did not abandon you." At first, he thought it was Ronon riding to rescue, but he was wrong.

This situation was all sorts of messed up. His Wraith stood over him instead of his team. He kneeled down and sat John up. "I will return the life, but first I must take it from others." He picked John up and placed him next to the large tree he had slept against earlier.

"Go find Kolya and say hello for me." It took all of his strength to say it. He let his eyes slide closed to wait, as the Wraith slunk into forest. It felt like only seconds before he returned and knelt beside him again.

"As I said, there are things about Wraith you do not know, Sheppard." The hand, weighted on the thin skin of his chest, pressed forcefully into his flesh. Warmth flushed for an instant and then searing pain. He cried out as his Wraith buddy regurgitated the lives he had stolen.

But, no one else was there when the Wraith finished. No one else crashed through the forest floor to come to his rescue. He looked for Ronon, Teyla, Rodney and Carson. No one came.

His savior pulled him to his feet. "This way, Sheppard. I found a ship." The Wraith walked back the way the others had come from in the original happening of the story. After a few steps on the path, he saw a pair of boots, attached to pants, lying to the side of the path. They were not Genii.

"Who did you…?" He knew already. He had not seen a single Genii soldier in this little macabre scene. He slowly approached the shriveled body of Rodney. His eyes dehydrated like cloudy, blue raisins. As they continued, the next one on the trail of corpses was Teyla. Her copper and gray hair flowed among the needles and mosses. The next body was one of his young marines, who supported the city. Without them, the place could not run. The Wraith kept walking along the path. Sheppard pushed his burgeoning hatred down. His inner killer wanted to come out and play. He remained calm and went along with the farce.

Carson was the last victim they came upon. Bones were the only signs left. The good doctor's jacket was the only way to recognize him. John could stand it no longer. "What did you do?"

"I am Wraith. I fed. We made a compact and I kept it." His yellow eyes peered through the shadows. He squinted them challenging John to prove him wrong.

"But these are my people. They were coming to rescue me like I told you they would." Sheppard stood in the middle of the path and felt as old as his hand had looked. "You used them to restore me…" He couldn't say anything else. His words stuck in his throat. He felt the loss, the revulsion. He also felt the barrel of a weapon on the base of his neck.

"Traitor." Ronon made it sound like a four letter word. "Betrayer." It was a growled, throaty accusation.

"I…I…" No, this couldn't be real. He slowly turned around and faced an aged Ronon. His hair grayed and his skin wrinkled. John would have gladly let the Wraith take his life and those within him and transfer it to Ronon. Of course, Ronon would never accept such a horrific gift.

The Wraith leaped from his place farther up the path and landed behind Ronon. He was going to finish what he started. Ronon whirled around opening fire as soon as he had his target. The Wraith staggered back and Sheppard inserted himself between the two. He did not want Ronon to die…even if this was not real. He put his hands up to stop his Wraith. He turned around to face Ronon and faced Ronon's blaster instead.

A pair of hands clapped together from just a few yards away. "Oh this is a splendid conundrum!" The female Wraith stood atop a small hill, the hole in her chest closing. She grinned and seemed thoroughly entertained. Sheppard looked closer. Apparently, he was wrong, because not all female Wraith looked alike. This one looked like a man in bad drag.

"I know you…" He ignored Ronon's hand cannon and started to walk over to the short female.

Ronon's weapon charged preparing to fire. "Oh, you will pay for their deaths, Sheppard," sneered Ronon.

"I keep my end of a bargain," breathed the Wraith in warning.

Sheppard spun around just in time to see the Wraith plant his hand firmly on Ronon's chest. Ronon's arm jerked and the errant blast from _precious _hit Sheppard square in his chest.

It was not on stun.

-----------------

Ronon stood firmly on the platform of the SGC in manacles. He looked Sheppard squarely in the eyes. Betrayer, he thought.

"I've brought the traitor in, sir." Sheppard seemed totally pleased with himself. Ronon did not understand why. "Killed his own lover and his teammate. Also, made us think he was running from the Wraith, when, actually, he was just leading the Wraith to more victims. The people that called the Wraith to pick him up were just part of many he had sacrificed for his freedom."

He wanted to be sick. Sheppard would never believe any of these things were true. Pondo was going to have a slow and lingering death. He was the outsider for so long, still was in many aspects, but he had a place.

This game wanted to take everything away from him again and again and again. He would not play. This was not the real Col. John Sheppard. The walk was not quite right. It jittered with an antiseptic quality. The swagger gone.

"Took us awhile, but with my brains and Sheppard's brawn, we bagged us our man." McKay said proudly from behind him. Ronon pursed his lips. McKay had healed his scars. He would not add to them.

He refused to say anything. He was not going to play. He had heard one of the marines say, "I'm taking my ball and going home," after he had thoroughly beaten the boy in hand to hand. He thought the saying fit the occasion quite nicely. He really wanted to go home.

Gen. Landry stood at the bottom listening and issuing instructions to the other game pieces. A little man stood next to him wearing a sergeant's uniform. It read Harriman, but it was not the little man he had met when he had visited…stood on the platform the last time.

He was not going to play. He was going to kill when the time arose. He was done with this game. He stood impassively and let the guards lead him down the concrete corridors to the cells. He sat on the floor and did not move or speak.

The door to his cell opened and the sergeant stood inside the door. "Oh you try my patience. They've betrayed you. They have fallen short…do something!"

Ronon looked the little man in the eyes. "No," he said as calmly as possible.

"You'd like to see your wife again…go home to your world…see your teammates, the real ones…just do something besides sitting there like a lump of clay."

"Make me."

A wicked smile crossed the needy little man's face. "Oh, this could be interesting, indeed." He left the prison cell mumbling and sniggering to himself. "Yes, very interesting."

The prison disappeared. Ronon found himself in a forest, frozen in place, with a Wraith feeding on him. Sheppard was falling backwards with a burning hole through his chest, mid-scream. Teyla stood behind Sheppard wearing his blood, arms outstretched. Everything stood still, petrified within a single moment of time. He looked for McKay and saw a boot, which could have been belonged to his fourth teammate, farther down the path.

Time resumed and Ronon brought his weapon back and fired repeatedly at the Wraith, Sheppard's Wraith, until he was cut in two. Ronon staggered towards Teyla and dropped next to Sheppard. Teyla followed suit, sitting on her knees.

"Sheppard…"

His team leader shook and gasped out his words. "Is that really you guys?"

"Yes, Colonel. It is us."

"I knew it wasn't you before…I just knew…"

Ronon ripped open the shirt and saw the mess his gun had made of his friends chest. This still was not real, but it was damn close. "Where's McKay?"

Sheppard pointed a weak, shaky hand toward where Ronon had thought he saw a familiar boot. Teyla nodded for him to go as she placed the Colonel's head in her lap. She grasped his hand in her evil one. Teyla was still Wraith, but Sheppard did not seem to care. Ronon did not care, either.

He moved down the trail to the first set of boots attached to legs. It was not Rodney, but another friend. The next body looked like Teyla, but he knew their Teyla was with Sheppard, so he moved to the next one. As it turned out, the last one moved slightly. The boot shifted in the dirt and needles and the fabric rippled with the small amount of exertion. Ronon started running. He reached a desiccated McKay trying (and failing) to sit up on his own. Skin was tight over his skeleton and his eyes were a cloudy blue.

The little man had won this round. The sunken eyes glared at him and a dry-as-leaves voice demanded, "Well, you going to stand there all day or are you going to help me?"

Even in death's grasp, McKay could be downright ornery. He gently lifted McKay up and brought him back to the other two. As he looked at his team, maybe the little deranged man had not won.

"I'm never going near another game platform for as long as I live," rattled McKay.

"Which doesn't look like very long, McKay," rasped Sheppard. "But I…I…think I've gotchya beat…My story, my time." He shuddered and then exhaled thickly for the last time.

Rodney looked away as his condition would allow. Teyla leaned her forehead over to touch Sheppard's as his open, unseeing eyes peered at the sky. Ronon centered himself. McKay was sometimes fond of saying 'work the problem'. Ronon looked at his blaster as the world fell away and they moved to the next perversion. He thought that the gun might not take care of the problem, but it would sure make him feel better to use it towards that end. The little strange man was the key.

When they changed channels, as Sheppard might have put it, he eavesdropped on a foreign conversation.

__

"Dr. Z! Did that do it?"

__

"No! Stop! You will hurt it!" Ronon recognized the whiny little voice as Pondo's.

__

"You, shut up and sit down!" another voice ordered.

"It is very stubborn. I can't seem to counteract the firewalls before others are erected--"

Ronon realized he was listening to people in the real world. He had to let them know he could hear them.

__

"--blocks me at every turn--"

He needed to say something, but he could not get his mouth to move. The voices grew distant and the game reclaimed him.

But, he knew Atlantis knew, and that was hope.

__

TBC…


	7. Talk About Deja Vu

A/N: The muses and bunnies are having waaaay to much fun. Your reviews are a good influence on them, although team Sheppard would probably beg to differ.

Ch. 7

Talk About Deja Vu

Major Lorne sucked when it came to computers. If the icon on a word document froze up for no more than two-minutes, he panicked. Computer geeks despised him as he was always calling them at odd hours just to ask if that weird rattling-like noise his laptop was making was normal. But it was sort of like with car mechanics. You knew your own laptop like you knew your own car, so when it started acting funny, you were the only one to realize it since you knew the stupid machine's habits inside and out.

So he followed Dr. Zelenka's instructions to the letter. When Dr. Z said pull this and twist that, Lorne didn't even ask how far or wide, he just did it. Even now his knees were screaming in agony as he knelt before the console with Zelenka hovering above him, alternating between the PC tablet and the console itself.

"Anything yet, doc?" Lorne asked. He'd been twisting wires and moving crystals around until his fingers had gone numb.

Radek sighed and muttered in his mother-tongue. "It is as though the programs are layered. Just as soon as I break through one, I find another. These firewalls, back-ups, it is as though they think for themselves. They have, so far, stayed one step ahead, adjusting to my manipulations. I have never encountered a computer so sophisticated."

Which was saying a lot since he'd mentioned the same thing concerning a few of Atlantis' systems.

Lorne pulled his hands from the console's innards and stalked over to the cowering, mousy Pondo trying to shrink out of existence under the heartless gaze of two armed marines. He gave a quick glance to the four pale occupants breathing and sweating heavily in the chairs, then back at Pondo. "You could make this easy on yourself if you'd just tell us how to shut the damn thing down."

Pondo shook his head. "It-it-it... I don't know. I have never had to shut the game down. The scenarios end when the players wish them to end or the game is completed. I do not know why you do not simply let them finish the game."

"Because they should have been done by now," Lorne snarled. "And I don't remember the rest of my men looking that bad when we woke up. What the hell is it doing to them? What is that thing? Because it sure isn't a souped-up version of Nintendo."

Pondo swallowed convulsively. "It is a game, nothing more. Left by the Ancestors for our entertainment. My family have been caretakers of it for generations..."

Lorne rolled his eyes and moved back to the console. The Pegasus Galaxy was chalked full of surprises but with clichés filling the gaps. Sticking to the cliché, the 'game' had probably been used for training, either to prep the Ancients for war or to speed up Ascension. Ten-thousand years and a few days later, a glitch decided to manifest the moment Sheppard's team sat their rather unlucky hides in the seats.

"Still no change, Major," Zelenka said without looking up.

Lorne leaned his hip against the workstation. "That's not why I came over here. Any luck figuring out what it is, exactly?"

Zelenka shook his frizzy head. "I believe these layers are not only preventing me from gaining access to the program, but hiding the intent of the program as well. Think of it like a maze made up of streets with many signs. Some signs are real but others are false, keeping you in circles."

"So, in other words, your being misled by a computer." Lorne looked over at Pondo quaking like a leaf and one Marine's bark away from wetting his pants. He had enough gate-time logged in to know for a fact there were people out there who could act their ass off and then some. Encounter enough and even the supposedly mentally-handicap five-year-old couldn't be trusted. Pondo could be completely clueless or pulling a brilliant fast one. Either way, they weren't going to get answers out of him. The fakes were always psychotic enough to keep up the act no matter how much they were threatened, then there was that damn Geneva Convention thing always getting in the way.

Usually the trick was to talk to them until they either broke the facade or let spill something that could be used against them. It worked two times out of twenty, but Lorne needed something to do before he ripped Pondo's head off just for the fun of it.

"Keep at it, Doc," he said, and stalked over to Pondo who visibly paled.

----------------------------

The wraith slammed its fist into Ronon's chest and Ronon sailed back like that weird looking ball Sheppard liked to toss. He crashed into crates and barely had time to shake off the daze when he was lifted by his shirt-front to be tossed the other way. He slammed into the ground, the breath shoved from his lungs. He doubted his spine would be able to take one more blow, but it didn't matter.

The wraith strode forward. Ronon kicked out and laughed when the wraith stumbled back. He would be honest, he was having a blast. The real-life fight should have ended by now, but the cavalry didn't exist in this recreation. But because it was a recreation, lacking reality, Ronon didn't mind so much. He ignored the aches, pains, and grating in his rib cage to leap to his feet, limp up to the wraith, and give him a one-two right and left hook driving the ugly bastard back.

The wraith hissed. Ronon grinned and wiped blood from his face. "I can do this all day." And he would, buying the real cavalry existing beyond this falsehood time to do what they needed to. Ronon charged forward with a bellowing war-cry. He plowed into the wraith in a tackle he was pretty sure Sheppard would be proud of.

--------------------------

"Help me, please!"

Teyla staggered to a halt and whirled around to the cocoon and its occupant with the familiar voice.

"Father?" she approached the cocoon in an equal mix of horror and hope. Tagan squirmed, struggling against the organic casing.

"We don't have time for this!" Ford snarled.

"At ease, Lieutenant," John snarled back. He was already cutting the bonds of another wraith meal. This one female, a stranger. Something in Teyla screamed that she shouldn't be freed, but the sight of her father trussed up for the eating wouldn't let her pay any attention. Teyla pulled her knife and began cutting.

"I will free you, father," she said, breathless and teary-eyed. She'd been a girl when he was taken, barely in her teens. His absence had kept her awake for days with dreams of his body shriveling to dust under the hand of a wraith, then blowing away in the wind.

But he was here, now. The dreams had been wrong. He had been alive all this time...

She stopped cutting. No, he hadn't. She glanced over her shoulder to see Col. Sheppard shouldering the woman and Ronon freeing two more. Blue flashed and John arched, sinking down with a defiant sneer of pain.

"Almost had you there, didn't I, my dear?"

Teyla looked back at the short, chubby wraith with its hand on her father's chest, sucking him dry, turning him to dust. Teyla screamed a sound strained, feral, and furious. She lifted her P-90 and let a thousand bullets tear into the immortal chest. But this wraith had fed, and laughed instead of shrieked.

"That tickled," he giggled. He dug his fingers into his own chest, plucking the bullets out one by one like a child picking the berries off a Mungon cake. He flicked each bullet at Teyla." You disappoint me, lassie. I think it would be best to step things up a notch." He ripped his hand from Tagan's chest and slammed it into hers.

----------------------------

Rodney's fingers flew over the tablet just for the sake of typing. The water crept up past his waist as the walls of the jumper buckled in around him. No cliff-edge to save him this time. Either the whale's passing had pushed him beyond the ledge or there wasn't a ledge.

"Isn't real, isn't real, isn't real..."

"That's what you said about me," Fake-Carter said. "Which, as you recall, hadn't gotten rid of me."

"Yeah, well, at the time my mind was only screwing with itself. This is someone else's twisted sense of humor making my already rotten day ten thousand times worse."

"Are you sure you're still even in that 'game'." Sam asked, doing the little quotation-in-the-air with her fingers.

"As sure as I know I'd prefer you in a bikini right now. Why the hell can't my imagination play fair?" But that would probably be asking too much, because life in general wasn't fair or this game would be working and he would be making out with Carter right now. Instead, the hull of the jumper groaned and Rodney's heart-rate shot through the roof. "Not real, not real, not real..."

"Keep it up, McKay. It won't change anything, but maybe you'll believe it enough to suffocate rather than die by a heart attack."

McKay looked up from his tablet to glare at fake Carter. "You know, at least my last Carter-hallucination had the decency of not acting like a complete bitch."

Sam gave him a cherubic smile and shrugged innocently. "That Carter isn't here."

Rodney perked and snapped his fingers. "Ah-ha! That proves it. You aren't a creation of my mind, you're a creation of someone else's because no way would my mind make you this unpleasant."

"You sure?"

"Quite. It would make her partially unpleasant but otherwise helpful and good at distracting me from the impending doom."

"Isn't that what I'm doing?"

"No!" Rodney squeaked. "You're making me think too much about how screwed I am." The jumper groaned louder. Rodney cringed while fake-Carter grimaced helplessly.

Rodney knew what was going to happen next, that it was inevitable, and that he would wake up from it to be thrust into some new nightmarish scenario. But knowing still wasn't enough to keep the instinctual parts of his brain from having a fit. He was about to prove that too much terror really could kill. His mind turned to "what would Sheppard do". He lowered his arms, letting the tablet drop into the chest-high water. Sheppard would probably cuss, say something witty or totally derogatory, and face the on-coming doom with chest out and head held high. Rodney's brain was in a snit, refusing to form coherent words. So he lifted his trembling chin, puffed out his stuttering chest and... squeezed his eyes shut with a whimper.

"Just get it over with," he begged.

"Oh," fake-Carter pouted, "you're no fun."

The jumper groaned and caved like a crushed beer can all around Rodney.

---------------------------

Sheppard opened his eyes to... himself, which he found immediately odd. He was lying on a metal table, arms, legs and head strapped down, sheet pulled up to his waist, and chest exposed. But that was only the half of it. He was blue and chitinous, mostly around portions of his face, his arms, and a large part of his chest. Ridged and spined scales covered him to his ribcage leaving the soft skin of his solar-plexus and stomach vulnerable. Somewhere close by, a heart monitor beeped steadily.

Then it increased speed when John tried to move his arms, meeting resistance in the form of metal restraints digging into his wrists. So this wasn't an out of body experience. He was looking at a mirror or some kind of really reflective glass.

"We are about to cut into the subject now..."

John's heart sent the machine into a rapidly beeping tizzy. His brain screamed, but his mouth wouldn't comply, and he vaguely recalled speech having been an ordeal even with the inhibitor.

The surgeon in the white smock, mask and cap loomed over him flanked by nurses made faceless by the shadows. A scalpel was slapped into the surgeon's hand, flashing silver on its descent toward John's chest. The blade tapped against the scaled armor over his sternum, then snapped.

"Guess we'll have to go heavy-duty," said the overly cheerful doctor. The nurses nodded in agreement and a surgical saw was slipped into the latex-gloved hand. Dr. Happy touched the serrated edge to the armor and moved his arm back and forth until the teeth bit through the armor finding vulnerable flesh and bone. John's brain screamed, but his mouth remained glued shut as those same metal teeth ripped through his skin and cracked through his sternum. Dr. Happy hummed all the while. Blue-blood mixed with red oozed out of the messy incision.

Sheppard had dreamed this. Between visions of mindless hunting and animal-wrought carnage came images of cages, stainless steel tables, and blades cutting into him as his heart still beat. He'd made Beckett promise that, dead or alive, his body would not be cut up for parts and handed out to the various science divisions. If he had to die like an animal, he at least wanted to be buried like a human – coffin, eulogy, the works.

Carson had promised. But, sometimes, things happened that broke promises.

John's only consolation was that this wasn't real, not even precisely like his dreams.

The saw slipped from the bone into the soft center and cut through it like a hot knife through butter. Dr. Happy tossed the blade over his shoulder to free up his hands in order to dig his fingers into the incision and pull.

"You know," the doctor chatted amiably. "This really isn't all it's cracked," bones snapped and tore, giving, John's chest opening wide, "up to be. Your horror is quite fascinating, but your blasted awareness keeps getting in the way."

John stared in wide-eyed, vomit-inducing terror at the gaping hole in his chest, the split sternum, shattered ribs, pulsating heart and lungs smeared in pools of blue, black, and red blood.

"The problem is," said Dr. Happy – no, Atar - "this didn't happen and a part of you knows it. So what can we do about it?" He reached in and grabbed a fist-full of heart, just as someone else had done only a few minutes (or was it hours?) ago.

Who had done that? More like _what_, actually. Problem was, Sheppard was a little too busy having a panic attack to recall why.

Dr. Atar leaned in close enough for Sheppard to see the cheery smile through the mask. "What should be done about it, John?"

Dr. Atar squeezed.

-----------------------------

John bolted upright sucking in air as though he'd been submerged for too long.

"Sir, calm down sir! It's all right, relax. We got you; you're back!"

John's eyes rolled wild in their sockets until they landed on Lorne standing over him, holding him down by the shoulders with little effort. Sheppard gasped another lungful and rolled his eyes to the rest of his team snapping awake in gasps or abruptly dying screams, all pale and sweaty and in need of a toilet to vomit in.

"We got you, sir," Lorne assured. "We got you."

John slumped back into the seat and released the gathered breath. "What the hell took you," he coughed, "so long?"

Lorne shrugged abashedly in response.

_TBC_...


	8. Hang in There!

A/N: Oh the reviews have made the bunnies and muses quite happy. They are now dancing in the streets…avoiding the heavy traffic.

Chapter 8

Hang in There!

"This is for real, right?" Rodney asked as he sat up with Radek's help. "I mean, we've done this before…" The aquamarine shimmered in the room and played across everyone's concerned faces.

"It's not real," replied Ronon as one of Lorne's men helped him up. "Can't you tell?"

Sheppard thought about it for a minute and realized he was right. When he saw his team, as he was right now, there was substance to them. It was hard to explain or understand, but when they were recreations, they were mere shadows of themselves, not as complex.

Lorne had that clean, electronic feel-- very little substance and depth. Sheppard walked to the foot of Rodney's chair and Ronon joined him. As soon as Teyla and Rodney were up, they completed the team huddle.

There was only one other person in this nightmare that had substance and it was the little creepy guy. No one else had the sharpness that appeared to pertain to a living person. "Rodney, could there be someone running this Little Shop of Horrors? A sentient kind of program or a Professor Marvel standing behind the curtain?"

"Funny you should mention that…I've been making a few observations since our time in this little ghoulish playground and, yes, that little, creepy Norman Rockwell is a different sort of creation than the other mannequins running around in here."

"I had a moment where I heard Maj. Lorne and Dr. Zelenka…it felt totally different than now. It felt like I was awakening from a long nap," added Ronon, eyeing the other people in the room.

"Dr. Beckett, they're awake but disoriented. We will treat them accordingly," Lorne abruptly reported into his radio. Next, he turned to Sheppard. "Sir, we need to get going. We need to return home, now." Uncharacteristically, Lorne tapped his foot and glared at his superior.

John did not look at Lorne as he answered, "No. Not moving. Not playing anymore." He was going to show how stubborn he could be, because Lorne talking to Beckett was a true rub. The situation kept grinding and grinding, trying to wear them all down. He could see it in the others eyes as well.

Lorne answered by shooting Ronon in the knee without so much as blinking. Ronon let out a surprised yelp and dropped onto his side holding his thigh in his hands. Sheppard shot Lorne, returning the favor. One of Lorne's teammates raised his weapon and Teyla raised hers. Rodney drew his creating a good old-fashioned Mexican stand-off in the fake game room.

Pondo stood up from cowering in the corner and placed his hands on his hips. "Oh, never mind! You are no fun!"

Sheppard turned his attention and his weapon at the short and balding man. "We want out. Right now. Or I shoot you, you little snake. I'll keep doing it until you or I grow tired of it, and I like shooting things."

"No, not acceptable." Pondo waved his hand and the scene changed into the Gate Room. The team found themselves standing in a very busy Gate Room with people waiting to use the Gate…with their children.

"John!" Sheppard whirled around to see Elizabeth very carefully descending the stairs. She moved slowly and waddled with her very swollen and pregnant belly. "Oh Johnny! I was so worried when your team didn't make the check in!" She grasped him on both sides of his head and planted kisses on his face. "Oh sugar bob! Hunny bunny! Schmoopy, boopy bear!"

This would have been extremely funny except for its timing. He looked at his team in between lip locks and they at him. He wished he could laugh at this absurd reality. He wished it was one of the set-ups at the beginning of this corrupted adventure so he could have enjoyed this silly incarnation of the leader of the expedition. It was not and the weariness of his team showed in their desolate and frustrated looks. John just wanted this to end.

A familiar and gravelly voice echoed across the Gate Room. "So there you are! This is the man who impregnated you. This is the man whose bastard child is in your belly! I've waited a long time for this!" John only had a brief view of Kolya storming out of a side door before the bullet hit him between the eyes.

-----------------

Now it was Rodney's turn to wear Sheppard's gray matter. He could not even move as the body of his friend hit the floor and a spray of blood, bone, and brain spattered him. As it dripped off of him, he started shaking.

"I warned you, I can play even meaner," Kolya said in a patronizing tone as he stood over Sheppard. Weir hung on his shoulder pouting and picking at her teeth. "It seems I like to shoot guns too," he observed while turning the weapon over in his hand.

Kolya was not as tall as Rodney remembered him. Obviously, it was Norman wearing Kolya's face. Before Sheppard's body had even stopped twitching, the little Nazi lifted his weapon and shot Teyla point blank in the chest. The other impersonations in the room froze as her body thumped to the floor. Ronon stepped closer to Rodney as the Evil Kolya (and that was saying something) smirked at them. The two teammates stood side by side and then they sat shoulder to shoulder on the floor, crossing their arms in front of them in a show of defiance.

"Go ahead," Ronon challenged as Rodney returned an outstandingly smug smirk to back him up.

"Too quick…way too quick. No chance for learning and conditioning. Bonds forging. Unwillingness. Oh, I know." The horrible little man tapped the side of his head with the Genii gun and then he leered at Ronon. "Oh, that is perfect." He was thinking out loud.

"Who are you?" Rodney asked, not really expecting an answer but hoping for one. "Why not just let us go?"

"So much newness, so many interesting experiences…New places and situations…New ways to die…new ways to kill. Before it was Wraith, Wraith, and Wraith with some murder by human hands, and maybe a little lust. It's just not enough anymore. Hmmm, yes, not enough. Come, let's play." Kolya's voice had changed from his arrogant, cold tone to one of child-like wonder during the rambling. "Yes, must draw it out more…savor it."

"Who are you?" Rodney repeated. His question went unanswered as the scene changed again. In this variation, he found himself hanging with his arms extended over his head and his feet barely touching the ground. His wrists were tied together on dangling chains connected to a thick beam. It allowed his body to sway and whirl from left to right.

In his rotation, he saw Sheppard to his left, unconscious, and Teyla to his right, also unconscious. He guessed they had not quite recovered from being dead. Pity. In the center, Ronon stood before the biggest, meanest Wraith Rodney had ever seen. It held Ronon's chains in its hands and leered at the Satedan. It pulled on the chains to make Ronon stagger towards it. It hauled off and punched him as hard as Rodney had ever seen anyone or anything punch anyone or anything else. Ronon staggered back only to be pulled forward again for a similar blow to be leveled at him a second time. This time Ronon fell into the dirt on the floor of the large barn-looking structure.

The Wraith jerked on the chains rolling Ronon over onto his back. "I can do this all day, human."

Ronon gave a blood-tinged smile. "It doesn't matter who it is, McKay. We're just toys to him."

"It does matter…it may not even be a who. It may be a what…a really complex program…"

"We just have to wait, McKay. Zelenka and Lorne are out there…"

"How do you know that that wasn't just another fake-out?"

"Because," whispered Sheppard through his cracked lips. "He didn't stay."

"He doesn't want us to know what is happening…" added Teyla.

"ENOUGH!" shouted the Wraith dragging Ronon to his feet. "Enough talk of things out of your control. Show me more! Show me how you face death! Show me how you beg!"

Ronon laughed at the pale alien face and then spit at it. "That's how I face a cowardly dung heap like you."

The Wraith whirled him around to face Rodney. "Then how do you face the death of your friends?"

A black rubbery material was pulled over Rodney's face so he could not breathe. Chains rattling on either side of him and Ronon's roaring in front of him told him all he needed to know. This was just a game as Ronon had said. Then a voice confirmed it.

"My name is Atar. I've been bored for so long that it is good to have company who can entertain me like you do."

Rodney's brain raced to understand how this was happening. He felt the manacles cut into his skin. His lungs burned and screamed for air. He heard his friends' frantic grunts and thrashing on either side of him. Ronon's pleading that Atar stop…

Except there was not any pleading. Ronon was laughing. "There's no death here, you idiot. You've proven that time and time again. Only pain. Pain can be survived. Pain can be endured. Pain can be brought!"

Ronon was right. There was no real death here. There was only pain. It still didn't make the lack of oxygen any less traumatic, but it did help with the thought that he would just have to keep surviving until they figured a way out.

Rodney heard skin smacking skin and then chains smacking skin. He heard grunts and shuffling and thumps and bumps. A body slammed into him and the rubbery sheet fell away to reveal Ronon beating the ever-living shit out of the Wraith. He twirled his chains above him and slung them at the creature's head. They wrapped around its neck and Ronon twisted around to its back to grab both ends and pull a Princess Leia versus Jabba the Hut move. Thank goodness Ronon was not wearing the little gold bathing suit.

The move brought Rodney a brief moment of glee, a small moment of, "Hah! Take that asshole!" It was short lived.

The Wraith laughed as Ronon pulled-- its voice never changing and its lung power never strangling. "I don't breath." He grabbed Ronon's arms and, without ever moving a muscle, simply inverted his entire body to face the Satedan. "This is my home. My rules." The chains fell from its neck and Ronon was flung through the wooden barn wall, splintering it.

"What you've seen…What you've experienced…I could play with forever…" The floor roiled turning from wooden slats to dirt. The barn shimmered into a clay and wood building. The air became stifling hot and Atar turned from a Wraith into an ordinary man in a T-shirt and jeans-- an ordinary man with a lit fireplace and pokers heating up in it.

He extracted one and walked over to Sheppard. Atar grasped him by the face and held up his head. "You're people are inventive." He placed the poker through Sheppard's thigh and then pulled it out. Sheppard screamed so loud that his skin pulled tight across his ribcage showing each detailed protrusion of bone. Sheppard, still trying to get over near suffocation, was so incoherent that he had not even tried to dodge the red hot implement. He gulped in air and made gutturals that cursed Atar without forming words.

Teyla started struggling, Rodney hung limply, and Ronon did not return to this hell. "Little Wraith girl. You've given me the other side to all of those cullings. Feel what I have learned from all of you." The next poker he pulled from the fire he pressed right through her chest. The point protruded out her back and the blood glistened in the firelight. The smell was nauseating and her scream could have shattered glass along with his heart.

Atar was learning this from them. He was learning to enjoy such pain from them…no, he must have already enjoyed it. He just had found new ways to torment others through them. Apparently, they were great teachers.

Atar returned to the fireplace and Rodney realized not all pain could be endured. It was not the first time he had thought this was not real, even if it damn sure _felt _that way. Sheppard tried to gain footing and clanked his chains taunting Atar. He tried to get the anomaly to come to him. Atar ignored him and stepped in front of Rodney. "You see too much. You know too much. But this time knowledge is not power. I am the power." He shoved the poker right through Rodney's right eye.

There was so much screaming and bellowing and wailing (not all of it was from him, he was pretty sure) that Ronon's voice in the background almost go lost.

"Zelenka says to hang on!"

-----------------

Radek Zelenka was about to throw the hissy fit to end all hissy fits if this (insert expletive here) machine would not cooperate. Every time he had thought he had found a back door, it would slam shut in his face. He had tried to put the figurative foot in the door, but he was just not fast enough.

To make matters worse, Maj. Lorne was walking back and forth creating a rut. The glances thrown at him were impatient and bordering on hostile. Radek was hoping it was aimed at the sniveling little man cowering in the corner or the damnable computer that kept bleeping and giving two-toned error signals.

He had almost had it. He was sure because Ronon had stirred. He had not completely woken up but had shifted, and his eyes had fluttered. Then, the (more expletives) door slammed so hard in his face his beak went up at a ninety degree angle. Perry, dodge, spin, thrust…

Now he was good and mad. He decided that maybe Ronon's hook-up had a glitch and he could, maybe, possibly, work around it. At least, that was his theory. The person who could have made short work of this was sitting in the next chair, completely still.

That stillness and the decline in visible health had Lorne on the radio to his people at the Gate requesting medical assistance. The occupants, otherwise known as SGA-1, were looking paler and paler. Their respirations were barely discernible. They did not move except for the eyes under their eyelids. It was starting to freak out Lorne and, quite honestly, himself. A ray of hope slipped through the gloom with Ronon's movement. With that, Radek knew they were not lost in this frustrating and maddening program.

Zelenka wiped the sweat from his brow. He looked up at Lorne. "Is it getting hot in here?"

Lorne stopped his pacing and furrowed his brow. "It is, Doc." Radek got up and went to some other controls on a far wall. The temperature gauge for the room was rising. He might not have understood the system of measurement, but he knew what the rising numerals meant. It would take more than a little sweat in his eye to get him out of this room.

"The computer is trying to flush us out. Kick us out of here…"

"You're making it sound like it's alive or something, Doc," Lorne suggested as he stepped up behind him. "If it is alive somehow, maybe that's why you're havin' so much trouble."

Radek turned around to face Lorne. "You may have something there, Major. It may have some form of a learning scale. I may be playing chess instead of Twister."

He realized he had been playing catch-up and not hardball. Ronon's chair was the key. As he watched the information scroll, he noticed there were times when it paused to change into a whole different set of algorithms. It was most likely changing scenes. The program was essentially a virtual environment and a game.

He began typing. If he could get it to pause for just a brief second, then he might be able to pull one of them out. This program was crafty. This program learned. This program might be more than the average program. Ronon's data indicated he was away from the others. Radek pressed 'Enter'.

Ronon grunted and his eyes fluttered like the last time. His fingers wiggled and Radek took the window of opportunity for however long it lasted.

"We're here. Hang on!"

As Ronon slipped back into the computer program, Radek thought he heard a whispered, "Good."

TBC…


	9. I'll Take This Sucks for 400

A/N: Oh dear, one of the bunnies took on a Mack truck and lost. The muses are trying to shovel it off the asphalt. And still they dance in the streets.

Ch. 9

I'll Take "This Sucks" for 400

Sheppard hurt in a way he knew he shouldn't be. He was in a damn game, for crying out loud. Sandman's playground. Wonderland. Many mighty figments of his imagination that all boiled down to it being mental – a dream. And he was told, once, that you weren't supposed to feel pain in a dream.

That person hadn't taken into account electronically produced and stimulated dreams. Sheppard's brain was being plucked like a guitar, the appropriate chords strumming to send vibrations of aches and agony through his weakening body. His chest pulsated with a dull ache from being punched through, cracked open, and sliced like a ripe melon. His thigh was even louder, the pain burning even though no blood flowed, and it was making it hard for him to stand.

Think, too, as he had no idea where the hell they were. Looked like Atlantis minus the gentle, soothing hum that was normally present at the back of his skull. Klaxons were blaring and people were darting like spooked but still organized mice.

"Oh goody-freaking-gumdrops," Rodney squeaked. "I think it's the wraith attack all over again. Yeah, it is, because I remember that guy. He was one of the ones that was supposed to watch my back but went down at the first wraith blast."

Sheppard closed his eyes and breathed, "Not again." He was pretty sure it would all end with Ford using the jumper to mow him down. Sheppard decided to go for an entirely new tactic. Well, maybe not all that new, but new enough to this Atar guy. He moved over to the nearest wall, leaned his back against it, and slid to the floor with arms folded petulantly across his chest. It hadn't really worked for him at the age of six, but things changed, and in all honestly he didn't care.

"Sheppard," Rodney yelped. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"Taking a break."

Rodney blinked dumbly at him. "Can we do that?"

"I don't know." Sheppard curled his mouth into what he hoped was a feral grin. "Let's ask. Hey, Atar! Quick question..."

----------------------------

Radek grinned, feeling a little giddy over the minor triumph of getting his message across. If he could do it once, he could do it again, and still had time to as it seemed the occupant of this hell-game had yet to take notice of his little trick.

Lorne hovered like a gnat over the Czech's shoulder. "Tell me Ronon's brief return to reality was a good thing here, doc. Because the lack of any other results is kind of getting to me."

"Oh, it was a good thing, major," Radek said, fingers flying so fast he was surprised the keyboard hadn't caught on fire. "Very good. As you would say, I have found a back door, and now I have a plan."

Lorne nodded. "Plan, good. I like that. So what's the plan?"

"I 'plan' on making the occupant of this game-world very, very sick. I am, even now, creating a virus that I will send into the world through the glitch in Ronon's chair. The glitch will allow the virus to slip past the many fire-walls that have been preventing me from gaining direct access." Radek set down one tablet PC and picked up another. "But it will take time."

Lorne glance back to the pale, slumped occupants of the chairs. "Doc, I don't know if we have time. The gang isn't looking too hot."

"I know. This program is advanced, complex, so much so that the pain they will feel in the virtual world will seem real to them. So real that it is taking its toll on their real bodies. I am no doctor, but the bio-readings on these consoles are making me nervous. I do not think heart-rates are meant to go this fast. I am going to send word to them now to keep Atar distracted for as long as possible. Perhaps they will find a way to slow their deterioration."

"Won't Atar get the message too?" Lorne asked, and it was a good question.

Radek grinned. " That is why I plan to be... what is word? Ah, yes, _succinct_."

-----------------------------

One of the frantic soldiers stopped running and turned, stiff-backed. He saluted Sheppard. "Sir, yes sir!"

John braced himself against the wall and crawled up it back to his feet, gritting against the aches. "Cut the crap, Atar. We need to talk. I have a proposition for you."

The young, chipper soldier's form fizzed, crackled, and then coalesced into the rather short, pudgy form of Atar. The creepy little man smiled, eyes alight with a rather insane, gleeful gleam. "You do know how to make things interesting, Colonel. But if you're hoping to spare the lives of your friends by offering yourself, I am sorry to disappoint you. Four is better than one, and one tends not to last very long."

"How about you hear me out, then jump to conclusions, Atar. I'm not an idiot and, apparently, neither are you. So here's what I have in mind. You like games, so let's play a game. You let two of my people go as a good faith payment, and you, me, and whoever stays behind takes part in a real game, with real stakes."

Atar's eyes widened, lighting up even brighter. "Ah, I see where you're going with this. We play. I win, you stay. I lose, you leave." He rolled his eyes up thoughtfully. "Ummmm... no. I like what we're already doing _much_ better."

------------------------------

Radek managed to pause. Ronon's eyes fluttered and the big man grunted.

"Ronon, listen to me," Zelenka called. "Tell Colonel Sheppard to keep the game-keeper looking the other way. He will know what I mean. _Keep the game-keeper looking the other way."_

Ronon grunted then abruptly passed out.

"Sure that'll do it, doc?" Lorne asked.

Radek sighed. "I hope so."

------------------------------

Sheppard saw Ronon fizz and flinch out of the corner of his eyes, but refused to look in the Satedan's direction. He needed to maintain eye contact with Atar, because the little man's attention span had a half-life of one second. The moment the creep got bored, they were screwed – again, and again, and again...

"Atar, I..." John was grabbed by the collar and pinned against the wall with Ronon leaning a little too close for comfort near his neck.

"Radek says keep Atar looking the other way," the bigger man breathed, then released John.

Sheppard's immediate reaction was "What the hell?" Keep Atar looking the other way? How, by pointing toward the floor and telling him his shoe's untied? For a psycho, nothing much got passed this Atar guy. He was reading their minds, for Pete's sake. Anything that came into Sheppard's head was immediately Atar's property.

"If that was your little friend, the one who has been trying to crack my ingenious system, I would not hold out hope to anything he has in mind. I know my system, and I have become a master at multi-tasking. I can torment you to my hearts delight with one hand and shove your friend out with the other."

Except the little turd didn't have a clue what was happening beyond his world. Zelenka either knew something Atar didn't, or was hoping the creep would make a mistake. Atar may have been an avatar of some kind, but he'd been human at one point, and human beings made mistakes, even ones in computers.

"I hope you're not betting your life on that," Atar said with a malevolent grin. Crap but how Sheppard wished he could punch him and have it mean something.

John pushed away from the wall and stalked up to Atar, pointing a finger in the little man's face. "I am, actually. So here's my new proposition – you want interesting death scenarios? Then I'm your man. Yeah, sure, Teyla's all interesting because she's part wraith, but it's still a bunch of wraith stuff. Same with Ronon. McKay you'll get more mental trauma than death which I'm sure isn't quite as fun. With me you have years and years of painful experiences you can use to kill me with. Stuff from my home planet and stuff from Pegasus. Did you know I had a cousin who tried to drown me? Bet you'd like to see that. Got a bullet in my leg, once, because I walked in on a drunk buddy who was cleaning his gun, forgot it was loaded, and got me right in the shin. And that's just for starters. You've seen most of the Afghanistan stuff, but that's just scratching the surface. I've been shot, stabbed, had the snot beat out of me on more than one occasion, got shrapnel in my chest, back, and stomach all at the same time and _that_ was just during a training exercise! Oh, and I have a really nasty phobia of bugs and clowns so imagine what you could do with that. The bottom line is - if you want someone to entertain you, then let it be me. And let's make it interesting. If I win, then the next scenario has to play out exactly how it happened. If you win, you can alter it to your slimy little heart's content. But you let my people go or I sit my ass right down and try my best to ignore you. I'll probably suck at it, but it won't be as much fun as what I'm offering. So what do you say?"

Laying out the offer left John breathless. The little man stared at him, or more like into him, searching him, picking through some of the worst memories and experiences Sheppard had to offer. Several of them surfaced unbidden into John's head, making him jump and his virtual heart pound. There were some experiences he tried to forget, others he though he had, some that still haunted his nightmares and some – more like one – so fresh it hurt.

The insane, wicked gleam was back, joined by an unnerving smile. "It is a deal, Colonel. But Dr. McKay stays. Wouldn't want him gumming up the works on the other side."

John's heart stuttered. "Wait, but...!"

"Too late." Atar clasped John on the shoulder, a bullet ripped through his spine and out his chest in a geyser of blood and bone that caked Atar's happy face, which was just wrong. Then the world blinked to black.

-----------------------------

A low groan got Lorne to whip around. Ronon and Teyla were stirring, Teyla raising her hand sluggishly to her chest. One of the marines watching Pondo made the mistake of going over and placing a hand on Ronon's shoulder to shake him. Ronon lashed out, grabbing the unfortunate man by the throat.

"You sure as hell better be real," Dex snarled. Lorne didn't know which he was more shocked by – Ronon's use of earth swears, the fact that he was awake, or that his tendency to return to consciousness in a rather violent snit happens so often that the major was used to it. Hell, everyone was used to it as the unfortunate marine wasn't even struggling.

"Sure... as hell... hope I ...am..." the marine rasped.

"Ronon," came Teyla's groggy voice. "I believe they are. They... _feel_ real."

Lorne finally broke from his shock and rushed over to grip Ronon's wrist. "Yeah, I'm feeling real, so why don't you put the sergeant down before he needs a neck brace."

It took a moment, but Ronon finally relented and Sgt. Stales was able to pull a rasping breath into starved lungs. Lorne made sure he was all right, and then turned to the sickly and disoriented looking Dex. The bigger man was the poster boy of a bender after-math. He tried to roll from his chair but Lorne pushed him back with a lot less effort than it should have taken.

"Ronon, take it easy..."

Dex knocked his hand aside. "No, I want out of this chair."

Lorne had no choice but to help him. The major took one arm and the choked sergeant took the other, helping Dex from the chair to the wall. Radek was helping Teyla, setting her down beside Ronon, and then hurrying back to his tablet.

"What happened?" Lorne asked.

Ronon rubbed his forehead. "Sheppard made a deal with Atar – the game guy. He got Atar to let us go. Tried to get McKay out, too, but Atar wouldn't let him. Sheppard challenged him." He looked at the still-occupied chair, then at Zelenka. "Tell me you have a plan, doc."

"I have a plan," Zelenka said. "Did Sheppard get my message?"

Ronon nodded. "Pretty much. But you need to hurry. I feel like I was run over by ten gorak. If Sheppard and McKay stay in there much longer..."

"They will not last for much longer," Teyla interjected. She was just as crap-faced and then some as Ronon."

"What of this challenge?" Radek said, typing away. "What must the Colonel and McKay do?"

"Survive," replied Teyla, and told them as much as she could about what was about to happen.

Radek nodded. "Good. I can use that. The trick will be to hide the virus I am going to send so that this Atar can not block or disarm it. That is where the Colonel and McKay come in. They must keep him busy enough for the virus to be overlooked. I may also be able to help them using the same glitch that allowed me to send messages to you, Ronon."

Ronon sighed heavily, his body done for the day, but he kept his eyes open and on the occupied seats.

_TBC..._


	10. Sunday Always Comes too Late

__

A/N: The muses have the pots heating up on the stove…the bunnies are banging utensils on the table…Hope their deceased little friend tastes like chicken.

Chapter 10

Sunday Always Comes too Late

Now that he knew what to look for it was easy to find the glitch. It was not so much a glitch as a patched and overridden failsafe. Radek was the master of patching and overriding fail-safe. He did it every single day and was a pro. He now knew where to insert the virus in the two remaining chairs. It was a crude worm but would serve its purpose. It would release them…or that is what he told himself.

The medical staff entering the room did not interrupt him. The murmurs and questions did not deter him. Ronon's quiet, menacing threats against Pondo did not slow him down. Pondo squeaking and scuttling across the room into a ticked off Marine did not rate one little glance, quirked eyebrow, or nod. He was the Zen computer master of deleterious programming. He would show this antiquated bucket of bolts who was boss.

The conversations were low, but he eavesdropped without disturbing his flow. He might look like he was not paying attention to anything around him. He was quite adept at being unnoticed.

"Their temperatures are a little low and heart rates are too fast. Whatever stress this machine is putting on them is beginning to show its negative effects."

"Dr. Zelenka! Where are we?" Lorne asked Radek.

Zelenka did not look up but answered with fingers flying, "Closer and closer."

-----------------

Faces, names, places, and things flew past them. Rodney and John would find themselves in a helicopter taking an RPG hit, only to blink and be in a car accident on a slippery mountain road, to switch to drowning in a large body of water, burning alive in a building…car…jet…

The roulette wheel of their lives spun and stopped, spun and stopped. They faced memories, scenarios, and fantasies-- all at Atar's whim. He was working towards something though; they both knew it.

They went through their missions on Atlantis. The ones chosen seemed to center around those when they had lost members of the expedition. A satellite blowing up…a manufactured virus creating aneurysms…a Wraith feeding on a scientist in a long abandoned ship…partnered together in a Jumper on Sateda…trapped on a planet with hallucinations. Then, the grand master voyeur picked up on a pain so fresh, a hurt so open, a wound so raw…

The wheel stopped and the ball fell into its slot. Rodney and John woke up in their respective rooms on Atlantis. They sat up in their respective beds. They stood up, walked across their rooms to the doors, and they stepped out into the quiet corridors. It was a much needed day of rest on their fought-for and adopted home. Heightmeyer had wanted everyone to decompress for one day. Rodney and John stood shoulder to shoulder in a corridor on a beautiful, Sunday morning…in Atlantis.

The fact that their rooms were not next to each others did not seem to matter to the players in this act. Ronon walked down the hall from John's left and--

The pair swallowed convulsively as Carson walked down the hall from the opposite direction. "Fishin' today, you and me, Rodney. You ready?" The excitement in the face was so…painful.

Rodney's voice caught in his throat. His mouth opened and nothing came out. He stumbled over the wordless reply. He could not produce a single uttering.

"Sheppard, you ready for golf?" Ronon barked.

John did not even look at him. His total attention remained on Carson-- and Rodney. Throughout this whole experience, they had only short meetings or reminders of Carson. He was a flitting presence in most every scenario. This was a blatant challenge, because here Carson stood face to face with them on the fateful day wanting Rodney to go fishing with him.

"I have to go do this," Rodney turned and faced John as he spoke. "I…I…I can't watch this happen again. I'm going to go pretend I like bugs and bait and hooks, and catch that alien sea trout."

"We have to play this one out as it happened," John knew what he was asking. "To the end, Rodney. We have to give them time…"

"Time, time, time!" Atar stood before them clapping his hands. "All the time in the world. This Carson, you miss…his time is over. This is what I want, what I crave. This is so fresh it still oozes. You fellas sure can deliver the goods." Atar manically grinned. "I have not felt this alive since I was. Since I decided to give up my body and remain permanently in the game. We have a game to play. So let's play."

"You _are _alive?" Rodney asked agape. "I mean, were?" This made so much more sense than it should. It explained why he came across so much more solid than the other apparitions.

"During the last culling of my people, I hid here. No one survived…would have died anyway so might as well enjoy half-life!"

"But, there are people living on the planet," Rodney protested.

"Not my people, new residents…anyway on with the contest…" and Atar disappeared from sight but was definitely not out of mind. Except that he was out of his mind-- a few drones short of a full arsenal.

John leaned over to Rodney and whispered, "In certain circles, I believe that is what you call tetched in the head."

"No kidding, we're so screwed…he's not going to let us go…he's having too much fun. Our only hope is Dr. Fumbles McStupid…"

"McKay! Don't wig out on me now! We have to play this one out, on the off chance that he does let us go or when **_Radek _**gets us out."

"Sheppard, golf?" Ronon barked for a second time, waiting impatiently for a reply.

John swallowed and looked at McKay as he answered, "Coming, big guy. You're gonna love it."

"Rodney? Fishing? Ringing any bells?"

__

Loud and clear, thought Rodney morosely. "Carson, I'll meet up with you at lunch, I have to go talk with someone first."

"See you at lunch!" The sheer joy…painful.

Rodney frowned at the retreating back of Carson. He still hated fishing, but damn he wished he had gone. Teyla or the others might not have had a chance with Carson gone…but…BUT…**_BUT_**…

-----------------

"I'm almost ready!" Zelenka called out to the room of people. "I have the worm ready to upload. The way it works it will seek out objects for the Colonel and Rodney to use as weapons against the intelligence keeping them in the game."

"This Atar is very clever," Teyla added. "He knew everything we knew and any attempts you made to assist us, he detected, Radek."

"Yes, so the virus must look like it belongs. Ordinary everyday things. From what you said, he had problems replicating objects from our world. Maybe I can use that to give them hints."

Radek put the final touches on his little pet. Lorne stood behind Dr. Cole as she took another round of vitals. Her pinched look did not ease any of his fears. The team was looking peaked when the medical personnel got here. They were looking completely unhealthy when Ronon and Teyla were released. The Colonel and Dr. McKay were looking down right nightmarish now.

"Carson…Dr. Beckett told him he had better make at least three a day…it's pretty apparent he didn't," Dr. Cole said mainly to herself about John. "Ever since…the Colonel has been overseeing all of the repairs along with Dr. McKay. They both have been running themselves ragged."

"Yeah, Doc. Whenever you turn around, one of them's there. Guess that'll change once we get them out of there." Lorne stepped back. "Last chance, Pondo. Anything we need to know? Anything you can think of to get them out of there?"

Pondo gave a quick glance towards a very menacing Ronon before shaking his head 'no'.

"All yours, Dr. Zelenka."

Radek straightened himself up and pressed 'Enter'.

-----------------

John had spent his day as closely as he could have to that Sunday. He hit balls at the driving range. He got thoroughly pummeled in that absolutely ridiculous and made up game of Ronon's. He sat in his room drinking beer and listening to the Man in Black. He hoped that Rodney was going about his day as closely as well. He half-heartedly spoke with Ronon about things better left forgotten when _it_ happened. The sound was muffled by the levels between them. At least this time it would not be his Teyla that had a shard sticking out of her.

He followed the path laid out for him by previous experience. He stood there as Carson rushed Teyla past him to the infirmary. He listlessly chatted with Zelenka as he explained it was not a bomb as they knew it. He followed Zelenka down to speak with Rodney. Rodney looked pale and shaken as he described the information he already knew.

As they went over the day, a voice spoke in John's ear. _"Now Sheppard. Go get him."_

It was Ronon's baritone whispering to him from somewhere else. As the voice finished speaking, the wall behind Rodney's computer sparkled and slithered. It beckoned them to follow it. After they stared at one another for a moment, Sheppard broke the silence. "Did you just hear Ronon…our Ronon?"

"No, but let's follow that thing…I may owe Radek a big apology for my previous thoughts on his skills." They exited the lab and followed the ribbon of sparkly light as it maneuvered along the walls. It was a tapeworm in the bowels of Atlantis and it led them straight to the operating room and Carson.

The worm glanced across a few operating instruments, sliming them with sparkly goop. Carson looked up from his doomed patient and snarled, "Your friend does not give up…we had a deal! But even this pathetic little attempt will not help you!"

The worm continued to glide across surfaces leaving its gift across many movable objects until it stopped. It targeted Carson and lunged.

"It's a virus and it's attacking Atar…by the way, you aren't fit to wear that face!" Rodney grabbed a scalpel and lunged at Carson.

A furious Atar repelled Rodney and flung him through the O.R. wall. The ribbon of code slithered closer only for Atar to step on it and squash it under his boot. Without wasting another second, John tackled Atar and held him down. "Now McKay! Use that thing now!"

Rodney stumbled through the wall and grabbed what looked like a saw. He ran towards Carson and Sheppard, readying his strike.

"Pity, I had wanted to play with two," Atar, still in Carson's body, inverted as he had done with Ronon and looked straight at John. "I guess it's just you and me."

Mid-lunge, Rodney shattered into a million little pieces leaving John quite alone.

__

TBC…


	11. Control, Alt, Delete

A/N: _Just ignore the culinary goings-on of the muses and bunnies. It's not... pleasant. But the reviews are a delight._

Ch. 11

Control, Alt, Delete

Rodney's return to consciousness was about as theatrical as expected. He jack-knifed up-right with a gasp, struggling against unseen assailants that became real assailants when the medics tried to calm him down. But it was Teyla's familiar, soft voice that did the trick.

"Rodney! It is all right, Rodney. You are free from the game, now."

Rodney shoved a medic trying to take his pulse aside and attempted to slide from the chair. "Like hell it's all right! Sheppard's still in there!" He managed to get to his feet, only for his knees to buckle. Ronon caught him and hauled him to a nearby bench, pushing him into it. Rodney stood up, only to get pushed back again, then again.

When Rodney tried a fourth time, Ronon shoved him back down by the shoulder with a snarled, "Sit!"

Rodney obeyed with a glare that was rather quite menacing on his pale face with sunken, shadowed eyes. Medics swarmed around him, taking his pulse, checking his heart, etc. "Just for the record, every minute you're dealing with me is another minute Sheppard doesn't have." He turned his bullet-spitting glare on Zelenka, coupling it with a stiff pointing finger. "And you! What the hell was that!" he squawked. "A worm! You thought you could hit him with a pretty, shiny worm?"

Radek sighed. As much as he was glad to have Rodney back, he hadn't missed everything that came with it. "Rodney, the visual worm was a distraction. The real one is still in there, hidden. I thought you would have realized this."

"I was a little under duress at the time," Rodney snarled. Radek was a little taken back. He had developed quite the callous when it came to McKay's barbs, but the man's pallor had taken the condescending to a whole new level. "Hidden how, exactly?"

"As what would be most useful to you. A weapon or a..."

Rodney stiffened, and it really was possible for the man to go a shade paler, going completely white. "A bomb."

"Well, yes, if that is something useful..."

Rodney shook his head. "No, you don't understand. Atar – virtual-environment dude – he was having us replay our most painful memories and we were just on our most recent. And the most recent being..."

Radek felt his heart nose-dive into his stomach acid. "Dr. Beckett's death."

"And how did Carson die? Oh, yeah, an explosion!"

Dr. Cole's eyes flickered back and forth between both men. "Hold on, wait a minute. What does that mean for Colonel Sheppard? What'll it do to him if a bomb goes off in a virtual world?"

"If he gets away from it," Rodney said, "then nothing. But if not... I have no freakin' clue. However, considering how crappy I feel just from what we've been through, I can guarantee it won't be good, especially should Atar cease to exist and not be around to bring Sheppard back."

Enough said. The medics separated into two bodies with the second body swarming around John, slapping on a BP cuff and opening up his vest and jacket to get to his shirt and cut it open, just in case. The colonel looked even thinner under his clothes; all protruding bones and sharp angles. Combined with the lack of color in his skin... it was scary, like a sneak preview to the corpse that was about to be if Sheppard didn't make it out of this alive.

------------------------------

Pseudo-Carson patted the exam table, giving Sheppard a bright, cheery smile. "Hop on up, colonel, and let's have a look at you. Seems you haven't been taking good care of yourself. Not eating right, not sleeping..." he sighed heavily and shook his head like a father reprimanding a three-year-old. "Look at you. I can't even lie dead for a few months without you going bloody anorexic on me."

John shook, could feel his heart hammering whether it was real or just in his head. He couldn't believe the amount of pain, the temptation to – just for a moment – give into the hallucination and play along with the "just another routine post-mission check" game. It was the stupidest temptation he'd ever been dealt, the most obvious ploy, theatrics at its worst... and he wanted to believe it.

"Come, now, Sheppard, just a quick check. Not particularly considerate, letting yourself go like this after all the work I put into piecing you back together and all. I died keeping someone else alive. Who are you killing yourself for, John? Huh? Maybe you should have been the one to die since you seem so eager. Bit unfair otherwise, don't you think? All that avoiding off-world missions just because I thought they'd be the death of me, and here I end up snuffing it in the safety of me own bloody infirmary. Blown to bloody bits..." Beckett's chest huffed in a dry, unstable chuckle. "Literally!"

John's fingers curled into a fist, nails biting into his palm. "Shut up."

Pseudo Carson placed a hand to his chest, over his pseudo-heart. "Colonel! Is that the way you always talked to the man who put your sorry, scrawny hide back together? Bloody ungrateful, just bloody-ungrateful. Good thing I'm dead. It would be rather hard continuing to exist among such ingratitude..."

"Shut. Up."

"Oh, please, Colonel, I'm just getting warmed up, here. Did you even cry for me at my funeral? Shed one bloody tear? Did you even mourn me in any way? Or has it still not _hit you_ yet?"

John's fists shook and he gritted his teeth. "_Shut. Up!"_

"Or what, colonel?" Fake Carson simpered. "You'll kill me?"

John's gaze moved past Carson to a machine toward the back of the fake infirmary, a machine that didn't belong. Big, bulky, blackened and dirty among the pristine metal of infirmary equipment – the bomb disposal unit, looking as though it had been recently used. He could feel his insides dry up and shrivel into ash. _Play it out... to its end._

"Yeah, Atar, I will," and he lunged, taking Atar completely by surprise because, since he was wearing Carson's face, the colonel should have been too frozen in shock and pining to attack. Atar's shock was enough to get the man near the machine that didn't belong. A brief contact, seconds long, and then Atar passed through Sheppard, inverting to face him when John whirled around.

Pseudo-Carson wagged a finger at him, tsking. "I commend the effort, but it was a dumb move, because," he spread his arms, "here I am. I knew you couldn't do it. I knew you wouldn't be able to hurt your dear, departed friend. I mean, you did let him die once already. Did you honestly think you could do it again?"

John shook but not for the same reasons as before. He was struck by a monumental epiphany of epic proportions. He'd been having vulnerability and helplessness shoved down his throat over and over and over. Some of it he could change, some he could not...

And that was life. Some things you fought to change, some you fought not to change. Sometimes you succeeded, sometimes you didn't, and sometimes it was enough that you had at least tried.

He forgot that sometimes... more than sometimes.

"I didn't let him die," he said, his voice thick, his throat trying to close off. He could feel moisture in his eyes hot and biting, gathering to pool and blur his vision. "And you're not Carson. I'm not killing him, I'm not."

For the first time since this whole stupid game began, Atar frowned. "What do you..." then his eyes went wide.

John shook his head. "I'm not killing Carson... I'm killing you, you asshole! So stop wearing his damn face!" And he slugged that face, wanting to knock it clean off.

Carson's visage shimmered, shattered, and reconfigured into Atar's twisted, horrified expression. "But... but... I can't die. Too many memories. Too many possibilities. Too many..." His image bulged, fake-flesh bubbling like flesh-colored soup, expanding like that gum-chewing brat on that Chocolate Factory movie. "Too many..." he rasped. Cracks appeared shedding shafts of piercing light that flared into a single mass like the center of the sun. The world rumbled and heat seared John's flesh, boiling his insides and turning his bones to ash. The pain was indescribable.

Then darkness relieved him of it, becoming all he knew, and he didn't think it so bad.

---------------------

Alarms blared and the medics reacted like birds fluttering at bread crumbs.

"No pulse! Power up the defib!" Dr. Cole yelled.

Rodney stood holding tight to the blanket that had been set around his shoulders. He craned his neck to see over the hunched bodies of the medics. He heard a whine, someone shouting clear, then maneuvered his head just right to see Sheppard's colorless body arch off the chair. The monitor continued whining.

"Try again, clear!" A thump, an arch, and still, there was a whole lot of shrieking from that stupid monitor. They tried again, then again: clear, thump, arch, whine. Air was being pumped into John's lungs, and a big-ass needle was shoved between his ribs right into his heart.

Rodney dropped back down on the bench and fought not to be sick. It was a game, a virtual environment. Not real, none of it real. People weren't supposed to die in games! Games weren't real. Sheppard shouldn't be dead.

With a will of its own, Rodney's gaze traveled over to the weasel Pondo and something in him snapped. With a roar more like a squawking bellow, he dove at the little man and pummeled him. "You little bastard, son of a bitch, he's dead! He's dead! You let him die you sick freak! Your stupid master killed him you ass-hole! I'll kill you; I'll kill you!"

Pondo shrieked, curling into a sobbing, moaning, whimpering ball as he covered his head and other such poor attempts to protect himself. Rodney felt hands trying to pull him away and voices yelling to lay off, that it wasn't this guy's fault, that he probably hadn't even known what would happen. All gibberish, like white noise when the TV didn't work, annoying but easy to ignore. Rodney beat and beat to his heart's content.

"We've got a pulse!"

Then he stopped, freezing like a deer in the headlights. "What?" He snapped his head around at the rhythmic beep of the monitor and Sheppard's body being prepped for transfer to the gurney. Rodney's body crumpled, melting with relief. Ronon caught him and helped him to his feet, keeping him upright. McKay wasn't all that aware with all his attention kept occupied by Sheppard's pale body being wheeled from the room. When had the colonel gotten so damn skinny? Rodney knew Sheppard had been losing non-existent pounds, but the way the man's ribs stuck out was just ridiculous. He'd been spending a lot of quality time with Sheppard what with all the repairs needing to be done. He should have noticed things were getting bad. He should have been paying attention. He should have...

Should have realized Rodney wasn't the only friend in Carson's life.

Rodney let Ronon help keep him up as he stumbled after his incapacitated friend. He was hit by a rather unnerving thought that had him pausing and turning to face Ronon. He looked the Satedan up and down, and then poked him the arm.

"We're real, McKay," Ronon said. "Everything is real."

McKay nodded. "Good." Then he passed out, safe in the knowledge that Ronon would catch him. At least he hoped Ronon caught him.

TBC...


	12. Monday, Monday No Guarantees

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A/N: Ah dessert…chilled monkeys' brains…slurp them up, yum! The bunnies and muses have strange tastes. However, they do love the reviews!

Chapter 12

Monday, Monday…No Guarantees

Rodney wanted Carson to be there when Sheppard woke up. Because, whatever had happened, Atar probably had given the Colonel a double mind whammy. He was still getting over his own demons. Carson's face on that maniac…unforgivable. Rodney sat in his bed, next to Ronon, and across from Teyla, stewing and waiting for Dr. Keller to come out and give the prognosis that Carson would have given…and the fact he was not here…well, it hurt…a lot.

Sheppard was hidden away behind partitions as they did yet another round of tests. It would probably come out the same as the five rounds before it-- coma. At least, he was breathing on his own. At least, they had not lost him too. At least…at least…at _LEAST_.

Rodney was scraping the bottom of the false hope barrel just so they could have a modicum of positive energy flowing through the room, even if it was against his very nature. He was the doomsayer, the harbinger of cynicism, the rainer on the parade…

Rodney McKay liked to look at every angle-- good, bad, ugly, indifferent, cold, light, hard, soft-- until it drove everyone around him to yell, "Shut up!" He prided himself on it actually. One could not get to where he was by sucking-up all of the time. No one seemed to understand that until now.

Until he was part of this mismatched team of wackos did anyone seem to understand his reasoning. He loathed and loved every minute of it. On the flip side, he had learned a few things from his time in Siberia and in Antarctica. He had learned to play in the sandbox without throwing sand as his first reaction. It might be a third or fourth reaction, but not his first.

However, this was the time to loathe it because of the one member still not back with the team. He was still out of his mind on a little mental vacation. And there was not a damned thing Rodney could do about it right now…if ever. It highlighted his dependence on this group of wackos.

Radek had gone over every conceivable piece of data. Every minuscule algorithm that flashed as Sheppard was practically cast out of the infernal program. He had nothing to help or explain in any concrete way what had happened. Conjecture was all they had. Atar must have been destroyed. The computer registered the game being over, but the guiding force was gone and it shut down without doing it properly. The game stopped with Sheppard still in there. Beating Pondo into a senseless pulp had not helped either.

"Dr. McKay?" Teyla spoke softly from her bed with her IV dripping steadily. "Rodney, it will be all right. He was not left in there. His mind is in his…" She stopped for a moment searching for a word to describe--

"His head? I know Teyla, but getting ejected so suddenly must have just overloaded his brain. It shut down to protect him. It's just that it might not want to restart," Rodney said.

"His neglect of his own needs seems to have caught up with him. He has not taken regular meals; he has not exercised as he usually does; he has not been sleeping well…" She looked down at her hands and exhaled softly. "He has withdrawn and we let him, because we were all grieving too."

"Since Beckett died," interrupted Ronon. He sat up in his bed with his IV dripping steadily. "I plan on making him aware of it once he wakes up. And he will wake up." Ronon glared at the curtains. "We have not done our duty to make sure that all members of the team are functioning properly. Weakness creates bad things."

"Eloquently put as usual, Conan." Rodney slouched against the propped up pillows. "We've all been trying to distract ourselves." Everything was not all right and it sucked in stereo. All of them had been harboring certain fears that they had had to face within the computer. All of them would have to work it out in anyway possible. They all had to support each other and while he was still getting use to that sensation, it did not feel as foreign as it would have a few years ago.

Dr. Keller's voice broke the somber mood. "Col. Sheppard? Col. Sheppard can you hear me? Squeeze my hand if you can."

A few minutes passed before the partition slid on the floor, interrupting their intense stare at the area. Dr Keller walked out with that very determined 'I'm not going to give anything away' look on her face. She failed. No change. Rodney could already hear it now-- no change.

"He's progressed to a vegetative state," she said looking at each of them in turn.

"What does that mean? He's gone from a bag of sand to a sack of turnips?"

"It means he's not in a coma, Dr. McKay." She gave a tight-lipped frown, shoved her hands in her pockets, and looked at her shoes.

"You said progressed. That means better, correct?" asked Teyla. She was searching for that silver lining. Rodney knew better.

"He's responding to certain stimuli. His eyes will open and close. He may even track something moving with his eyes, but he's not cognizant of it. His brain is still...I think it's just protecting itself. All we have is the waiting game." She looked at each of them again and her expression softened. "And I know…you're not good at waiting."

Ronon snorted and Rodney mumbled, "Yeah, well…yeah."

He flopped half-heartedly back into his bead…and waited.

-----------------

Teyla was the first to sit with John the following day. She caught him up on the goings on around the base. She gossiped about some of the latest Marines, scientists, and doctors that had arrived right before they left to go on the mission.

"Maj. Lorne is keeping them inline waiting for you to get back. He does not like the paperwork. Col. Caldwell has not stepped in yet. He's waiting to see how long you remain this way. He has changed since our first meeting." She looked around at the infirmary. "There is talk of…" She took a deep breath. "…sending you to Earth if this state continues. But it is too early for such talk." She gently patted his hand. "So let us continue with the crush Rodney has on Dr. Brown. I believe there shall be another try at dinner."

His eyes moved to look at her, but they did not stay there. They moved back to center and he seemed to nod off for a nice little nap like he did on movie night. Usually, he was the one asleep by the end of the movie. He was the one they had to nudge awake to go back to his quarters in order to go to bed. She wanted to nudge him awake and say everything was all right. Rodney was correct, everything was not all right. He had let himself get away with not letting Carson's death hit him. So it sneakily took from him a bite at a time.

"Carson would not have wanted this," she had leaned down to whisper in his ear, "Carson loved life…don't let his death wear you down." She squeezed his hand.

Ronon walking in the door on the other side of the infirmary distracted her for a moment. It was a welcomed diversion. She smiled and nodded at him in greeting. John chose this moment to return her squeeze. Her head whipped back around to look down at the long fingers wrapped around hers. The squeeze continued and the eyes opened. He looked directly at her. The machines connected to him changed their rhythm as the grasp strengthened. She felt her waning hope surge anew and quickly called, "Nurse!"

The nurse ran over practically shoving past her. Ronon ran the rest of the way and stopped at the foot of the bed. "What's going on?"

"I do not know…I was talking to him and then…" She nodded towards her hand.

Dr Keller ran over followed by Dr. Cole. "What do we have?" She looked to those already at the bedside.

"He's showing signs of consciousness…" The nurse reported.

"Col. Sheppard, do you hear me?" Dr. Keller started with checking his eyes and asking more questions of him and those around him. All the while, he clutched Teyla's hand in his-- the grip growing stronger and stronger. It was starting to hurt.

"Teyla, Ronon, could you step out?" Dr. Cole asked as she joined the group.

"He will not let go of my hand." Teyla tried to pull away and the eyes snapped over to her. He inhaled loudly and began to writhe under the sheets. He brought his knees up and dropped them over and over. His back arched off the bed to create a nice bridge, muscle and bone stretched to the point of complete extension or contraction. His eyes clenched shut and he groaned very quietly. He still did not let go of her hand.

"Usually, a patient wakes up slower than this, but then this situation is a little different," observed Dr. Keller. "Col. Sheppard, I need you to calm down."

John's eyes snapped to attention right on her face. The gaze lasted too long there and then his breathing picked up. Slow, thick tears slid out of the corner of his eyes and down onto the pillow. Teyla realized that _it_ was hitting him at one of the worst possible times. That he was waking-up expecting to see Carson and for the first time since coming to Atlantis, Carson would not be the one to welcome him back. She squeezed his hand harder.

"We are here, John," Teyla whispered.

-----------------

Waking wasn't so bad either.

He had been dreaming of nothing in particular if he had been dreaming of anything at all. He felt very heavy, like he was going to put a hole in whatever he was lying on, or at least a John Sheppard shaped indention in the surface. Then, slowly, he started to hear background noises that were familiar, yet foreign to the peaceful bliss. Without warning, the bliss and noises turned into vivid images of a man in a doctor's coat. The name flitted out of reach for an eternity only to watch the man incinerate with John standing right there…

But a hand grasped his firmly, flesh on flesh. He needed the touch to face the flaming human torch before him, who he could not save. He could not save this man and now this man was gone…All of them had been gone from one moment to the next. The memories were a jumbled up mess. Real with imagined combined to confuse and frighten him.

Another voice talked to him, but he could not find where it was coming from in the intermittent darkness. The voice grounded him and made an inroad into his jumbled mess of a brain. Then light threaded through and another woman stood next to the familiar one. The woman in white was taking the torch's place and then the loss hit him. He had not let that particular pain touch him like the hand that he would not let go of. He could not let go because he was afraid that he would slip back to where he had been. While nice and comfortable, it was not where he was needed. It was not where he wanted to be.

The remnants of the fire licked at his nerves and sent his brain into make-it-stop mode. The accumulation of pains from his last mission, real or imagined, spiked and he could hardly think straight, which was not happening anyway. Confusion warred with remembrance and he let the tears flow because he hurt so badly from everything, emotional included. His friend was dead and this woman should not be the asking questions and taking vitals. He should be.

He _should _be.

Not this woman.

Their voices faded into background again. Darkness slid across his vision and he wanted to punch someone, because he hated feeling this vulnerable. He hated feeling this exposed. As he looked at the woman holding his hand, he knew that, at least, he was among family.

__

TBC…


	13. Dawn's Early Light

A/N_: Well, here it be, the end of the trail. The muses are sulking and the bunnies are telling them to stop being babies, there will be future stories, future reviews. In the mean-time, they bow in humble gratitude for the reviews received. _

Ch. 13

Dawn's Early Light

Ronon was true to his word. As soon as John was allowed to sit upright and take liquid meals, he pulled up a stool and stared at his team leader in a contest of wills he already had won.

"You look like crap, Sheppard."

Sheppard, sipping dinner through a straw, flicked nervous eyes to and from the Satedan. It was as far as he went in terms of a response. It made Ronon even less happy than before. "Why the hell do you do this to yourself? Do you think yourself the only one grieving? Do you think yourself the only one at fault? Beckett was our friend as well."

Pain flickered sharp in Sheppard's eyes and the pale lips tightened on the straw. Ronon could have sworn the man was collapsing into himself. Anger, anger was the key. Sheppard needed an outlet, an opportunity to explode in a way that would keep him together rather than tear him apart.

Ronon smirked. "I never took you for a quitter, Sheppard. Since when have you ever given up?"

Sheppard pulled his mouth from the straw to stare vacantly at some point on the wall of flimsy cloth undulating in a draft. The curtains separated Sheppard's space, but they did not make for true privacy.

The look in Sheppard's eyes Ronon liked even less than the lack of response. John seemed to be considering, honestly considering, an accusation that should have had him bolting from the bed to feebly take Ronon down. Ronon didn't know quite what to say to make him stop, when Sheppard turned to look at him.

"Is that what I was doing?" It wasn't a return accusation, John truly wanted to know. He was begging to know – the large, moist eyes said as much.

Ronon gaped for a moment. "Seems like it," he ventured.

Sheppard turned away. "Explains a lot, then," and he returned to finishing his dinner.

----------------------------

Most of any conversation with John was one-sided, tense, and over-loaded with small talk. Since the usual motivations garnered no progress, the team did not know what else to do. Well, Rodney seemed to, but Teyla was less certain of his methods this time around.

"He just needs to snap out of it," McKay argued. "Beckett was our friend, too. We were all hurting. Why the hell does he think he has to do it alone?"

Rodney made an excellent point. Teyla, however, had the sneaking suspicion that John's current state was not a matter of stubborn resolve to keep all emotions to himself. He seemed genuinely confused, and had his memory been missing it would have made sense. He was just so... _lost. _Lost and not quite able to find his way back. Yes, they were all mourning, but each in his or her own way, reacting by his or her own experiences. The only commonality was their sadness and love for Beckett.

All three stood at a safe enough distance from Sheppard's bed – no longer hidden behind the curtains – to watch him sleep as they talked. Ronon said little, the conversation being carried mostly by Rodney.

"It may not be that simple," Teyla said.

"How is that not simple?" Rodney hissed. "The man has been hiding all this from us the whole time, letting himself get whittled down by grief and guilt and who knows what else that he happily pretended didn't exist. We can't let him keep doing this, and you know he will. He'll just shove it all back into that over-stuffed head closet of his and start all over again. And this time it'll be worse thanks to Atar's _Saw_ type intervention."

Teyla winced. Rodney just had to bring up the movie that had made her question the sanity of Earth culture. But she supposed it was fitting enough. He also had yet another point. "I just think that we need to be cautious. We must be there for him, but not in a manner that will push him away. Sometimes... at times... I must wonder if he even knows how to grieve."

-----------------------------

Not push him away. How the hell is slapping a verbal wake-up call in the man's face pushing him away? Besides, if it meant keeping Sheppard from starving himself, then push away Rodney will. Although he rather it didn't come down to that. Friends were a commodity, and of course it took the death of one for that to really hit home.

Really, really hit home.

Keller, for all her innocent little front, was a pit bull standing between visitors and her patients. Teyla could talk to him just fine, but Ronon and Rodney were walled off for the supposed reputation of having a way of getting John unnecessarily upset. Plus Sheppard didn't do anything else beyond eating and sleeping. Rodney never even had a chance to get him unnecessarily upset.

Not even when John was finally released. The pilot made himself scarce and was actually being good about it this time. But Rodney had persistence that could erode mountains within weeks. He let John have his privacy the first few days when he was confined in his room resting. After that, with an LSD in hand and Ronon doing a little reconnaissance, he finally cornered Sheppard on the west pier.

Not so much cornered, just found, sitting close to the edge with his knees pulled up and lanky arms draped loose over them – the picture of contemplative serenity, swallowed up in a too-loose gray sweater pressed against his flank by the wind, molding into his ribs. He didn't look any better than when he was in the infirmary.

Rodney settled down next to him, and what was probably a feat for him, stayed quiet. Teyla had said not to push, so Rodney wouldn't push... not yet. Quite yet. Probably eventually since this was a bunch of crap. It was the kind of situation ripe for group therapy under Heightmeyer's watchful gaze: lots of bonding, sharing feelings, and public crying. Rodney shuddered.

It was getting harder to stay quiet by the second. He couldn't let Sheppard do this to himself, let that bastard Atar win. Dead people weren't supposed to win, dead computer hologram people especially. Holographic and dead people, who could twist memories of the kind already bad enough to not really need anything added on, could make memories not meant to be relived in such intricate glory…

Sheppard's recollections, even manipulated, had struck Rodney as just as unpleasant even when not skewed.

Rodney regarded Sheppard out of the corner of his eye. That Holland guy, he'd been someone real, a friend. Sheppard had probably lost quite a few friends in battle. And wouldn't that just suck – making one friend, losing him. Make another friend and lose him next. Over and over again like a repetitive beating until, like an over-kicked dog, rather than put up with the pain Sheppard would retreat cringing into some dark corner. Or, in the more appropriate human scenario, the remotest place on earth.

Then what? He gets tossed into another galaxy to do it all over again, with no place to run.

Rodney's heart stuttered and he balked.

No, Sheppard wasn't a quitter. He was human with human limits. So, maybe, he wasn't quitting, or running away, or giving up. Maybe, just maybe, he was trying not to. Or, also just maybe, he had no idea what the hell to do, how to grieve right just as Teyla had supposed. Some people didn't and Rodney doubted Sheppard had been visited by his own little Carson ghost-of-Christmas-past to help him figure it out.

Oh, wait, he did. Except that Carson apparition number two had kicked John a couple of times when he was already down.

It was no wonder he was having a hard time getting back up.

So the problem was – what the hell do you say to that?

Maybe nothing, which was just fine because Rodney had no clue what to say without it coming out wrong. Chew Sheppard a new one for not taking better care of himself, for trying to hide away, which would probably escalate into chasing him off until he hid somewhere else. Then Rodney would have to chase him down all over again, continue the same argument, chase him off, chase him down, until something finally clicked.

If there was a way around all that, McKay would prefer it. Maybe if it could all be done the first time around... but John had seen Carson die twice, and that adds a whole new floor to the tower of screwed.

But as minutes ticked by long as hours, Rodney's tongue itched to say something, anything. Okay, not anything, something comforting. He wanted to be the comforting one for once, because that's what friends were supposed to do, right?

Rodney looked over at Sheppard. The serenity had been a front. Tendons stood out against the pale skin of John's neck and his throat bobbed in constant swallowing, probably working against tightened muscles forming lumps in the esophagus. His throat had to be aching according to the lines creased in the corner of John's eyes. A little longer and closer scrutiny revealed vibrating shoulders – John was shaking.

Topping it all was the brighter reflection of amber light flashing off liquid in his eyes. Sometimes, there was no holding it in, no matter how you fought, because the longer you did the more it hurt. Rodney knew well enough. It didn't go away. It curled up cozy in the back of the mind, pricking it, flicking the heart-strings in aching vibrations, eating you alive until it was too big to ignore.

Sheppard probably blamed himself. It was inevitable. They all blamed themselves. So how does one convey that without it morphing into a verbal spar?

The vibrations in the shoulders ascended to a full body shudder that descended back to quaking. Rodney nervously cleared his throat. If John kept this up, he was going to exhaust himself, and he still wasn't one-hundred percent yet. Why didn't he just let it happen?

"Um," McKay stuttered. "Shep... uh, John? You know... it's okay to cry... sometimes. I cried. And if you want I can leave. It's just... it, it... it'll help, a lot. And it's okay, that's the important thing. It's okay because he was your friend, too and... and..."

John blinked once and two tears tracked flashing gold sunlight down his cheeks. The growing knot in Rodney's chest untied letting him breathe out in relief. He placed his hand on Sheppard's upper back in an awkward pat. "I miss him, too."

They resumed their silent vigil of the lapping, gold-splashed water in silence, and this time it wasn't so bad.

----------------------------

Stomach full with the most he'd eaten in a while, John crawled into his bed, curling up beneath the covers. It was early for him but he didn't have the energy to go another two hours of fighting sleep. He didn't remember when he had ever felt this drained.

His body ached, his mind wouldn't quiet. Images of Carson danced in his head, then Holland, Mitch, Dex, but mostly Carson. Sheppard had been right, it hadn't really hit him, and when it finally did, it had struck with the power of ten sledgehammers – a wake-up call that had nearly killed him.

He missed Carson. The man saving his life over and over was a given. Beckett being the reason he was here, the catalyst that shoved something he didn't even think possible into his hands, packed a hell of a lot more punch. Thinking back, John wasn't really sure if he had ever thanked Carson for that, for making a mistake that gave him a home, a purpose, a family.

No, John hadn't thanked him, but wished beyond anything else he'd wanted that he had.

For the tenth time that day, John's throat tightened until he could barely breathe.

_I'm sorry, Carson, I'm so sorry._

He closed his eyes squeezing tight against the sting of moisture that slid through the lids down his face.

_Thank you, thank you so much._

_You're welcome, lad._

For the first time in so long a time he thought he'd forgotten how, he wept in earnest, and something in him quieted until he slipped into sleep without dreaming.

The end

A/N: _So it ends (sniffle!). Thanks be to all you who have journeyed with us, leaving goodies in the form of reviews. The muses and bunnies have devoured them greedily, leaving them fat and happy. Will there be future stories? That depends on yon muses and bunnies... who are now surrounding a table... heads bent, discussing something, making notes. Is that a look of wicked glee on their faces? Yep, who knows. _

_Drufan peeks over their shoulders and hopes for something good! Thanks everyone!_


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